<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Almost Blinding by roggietaylor</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825768">Almost Blinding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/roggietaylor/pseuds/roggietaylor'>roggietaylor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1970s Era Queen (Band), Denial of Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M, a bit of angst, not much, sheer heart attack - Freeform, so that sort of era, unspoken feelings, up through to</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:33:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>78,281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/roggietaylor/pseuds/roggietaylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger and Brian are close, always have been. But after an encounter with the two of them and groupie ends with an impromptu threesome, Roger wonders if maybe they're too close, or if maybe they've ruined their friendship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian May/Roger Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all! This fic is a little more explicit than my other ones so that's just a blanket warning for anyone reading. And if you do enjoy it please do comment!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
<p></p></div><p>Roger’d flown before, on holiday with his mum, the occasional visit to a more distant family member or family friend that they’d every so often fly down to France to visit. Each of those times he remembered the flight being excruciating. Hours and hours of restless legs and pathetic attempts at sleeping the time away. And those had never exceeded the four hour mark. Sitting in his aisle seat, Freddie in the window by him, Brian across the aisle from him, he felt a genuine sense of purgatory. How could any flight last 12 hours.</p><p>Thought technically it was only nine on that specific flight to Columbus. Roger didn’t know much about the center of America but he knew it was boring, and he knew he couldn’t wait to get out to the coasts, to New York, LA, and the likes. Places filled with a kind of free joy he could just barely imagine as he wasted away in his plane seat. They’d had the added joy of a connector flight with a layover that started off their trip. Freddie, at the first stop in baggage claim, lamented how bored they’d all be on the flight, Roger called him a child at the time. But five hours in, he was tired of the games of hangman played on spare napkins and the odd round of 20 questions. His legs hurt, and no matter how much he tossed and turned he’d never be comfortable enough to actually sleep.</p><p>“What’re you reading?” said Roger to Freddie.</p><p>Freddie shrugged. “Magazine the stewardess gave me while you were asleep.”</p><p>“Asleep?” Roger cocked his head. “I haven’t slept.”</p><p>“You slept for a good twenty minutes about an hour ago,” said Freddie with a laugh. “Don’t you remember?”</p><p>“God,” he rubbed his face, “this plane’s never fucking landing is it? We’re circling until we die of old age.”</p><p>“You know when I flew to London from Zan—” began Freddie.</p><p>“If you bring that up <em>once more</em>, I’m pulling the emergency release on the door up there,” said Roger, gesturing down the aisle to the front of the plane.</p><p>“You can’t call me a baby and then not accept teasing when you do this,” said Freddie.</p><p>“I called you a <em>child</em>, and I apologised three hours ago,” groaned Roger.</p><p>“Well, if you were wondering,” Freddie crossed his legs, “this magazine is boring as all hell. It’s something to do with home appliances.”</p><p>“Why’re you reading it?”</p><p>“Because if you and I play another game of hangman, I’ll end it all,” said Freddie with a sigh.</p><p>“D’you have any of those pills that knock you clear out?” said Roger. “The ones you gave me on the way to Japan?”</p><p>“If I had those fucking pills I would’ve forcefed you one before taking the rest of the bottle two hours ago.”</p><p>Freddie turned his attention back to the tedious magazine, and Roger sank a bit into his seat. His gaze drifted off, towards and across the aisle and landed on the back cover of the book in Brian’s hand. He glanced a bit lower, at the way Brian’s legs were doing their best to stretch <em>under</em> the seat in front of him. Roger winced at the idea of curbing boredom, discomfort, and an unsatisfiable exhaustion, along with the cruel punishment of having his knees shoved into the seat in front.</p><p>The book cover was illegible from Roger’s vantage point. Either his eyesight or the distance made it all one relatively smooth colour. He’d tell himself it was the distance. His eyes flicked up to Brian’s face, noted the intense focus on it, the way his index finger rested against his lip like he was thinking, reading something most profound. Roger smirked at that. Brian had an ability to look thoroughly interested by anything and everything. He could make dinner menu’s look like philosophy.</p><p>“Oi,” Roger reached across the aisle, whacked his arm, Brian jumped, “what’re you reading?”</p><p>“Er—book,” said Brian, lifting the book just a bit.</p><p>“No shit,” laughed Roger. “Which one.”</p><p>“It’s—well it’s not technically a textbook, it’s this old supplementary reading I never did for one of my classes. It was supposed to be interesting,” said Brian with a shrug.</p><p>“You’re doing homework?” said Roger.</p><p>“Not homework,” Brian let the book close on his thumb. “It’s interesting, but not especially informative.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” said Roger with a deep sigh. “Well d’you have any other books?”</p><p>“What?” Brian laughed.</p><p>Roger reached over, tapped the spine of Brian’s book. “Any more? I didn’t bring anything for the trip.”</p><p>“You brought nothing?”</p><p>“Well—I brought a book for the plane but I put it in my checked bag,” said Roger. “C’mon anything more entertaining than staring straight ahead will do.”</p><p>“Er, alright,” Brian slipped his thumb out of the book, tucked it into the pouch in the seat in front and reached down for his bag. Roger watched intently as he rummaged through it and finally emerged with a deck of cards. “I don’t know many games aside from go-fish.”</p><p>“Go-fish is better than nothing,” said Roger. He swiped the deck from Brian’s hand and shuffled them quick, Brian watched him closely and quietly reminded Roger they each needed seven cards. “Do you trust me to hold the deck?” Roger rested it on his armrest.</p><p>“If you try and cheat at go-fish it’d be too pathetic to call you on it,” said Brian with a grin as he organised his cards. “I’ll go first since it’s my deck. D’you have any twos?”</p><p>“Doesn’t seem fair, but fine. Go fish,” Roger held the deck out for him. “Do you remember what time it’s meant to be when we land?”</p><p>“Around three in the afternoon I think, don’t quote me on it.”</p><p>“This plane’s so uncomfortable, I think I can skip all the jet lag, I’ll never get any fucking sleep,” said Roger. “Got any aces?”</p><p>“Go fish,” said Brian. “You’ve got to be well rested, Rog. It’s <em>America</em>. Got any fours?”</p><p>“Two fours,” spat Roger, throwing the cards in Brian’s direction, letting him scrounge to pick them up. “And what does that mean ‘it’s America’? What do you think happens in America? All night orgies and benders?”</p><p>“Pretty much,” said Brian with a nonchalant shrug. “Got any nines?”</p><p>“No nines—and—we live in London,” said Roger with a laugh, he held the deck for Brian again. “Can’t get much wilder.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t think Columbus, Ohio is going to be any sort of shock to us. But this time next week we’ll be in New York. <em>The</em> New York. Even Freddie’s said the freaks run freer there.” Brian jerked his chin toward Freddie at Roger’s side.</p><p>“Freddie said that about Aberdeen too,” said Roger tiredly. “Any eights.”</p><p>Brian handed over a card. “Well, if you insist on being negative.”</p><p>“Negative?” Roger smirked. “Is it putting you down to think of<em> not</em> attending some binge of an orgy? Doesn’t seem your speed.” Roger glanced up from his cards to Brian, saw a blush spread across his face. He blushed so easy.</p><p>“Not my speed but,” Brian shrugged, “who knows. Tt’s still your turn.”</p><p>“You got a lot planned that we’ve got to keep from Chrissie then?” Roger eyed him. “Any threes?”</p><p>“Go fish, and no,” Brian cleared his throat. “No, I’m just—you know, there’s plenty of fun to be had that doesn’t involve anything I’ve got to keep secret. Any fives?”</p><p>“There is,” Roger handed over a five, “but it doesn’t look like that’s what’s on your mind.” Brian kept his eyes on the cards, Roger laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t know how to make international calls.”</p><p>Brian laughed quietly behind his cards, but never looked up. “You don’t tell Chrissie and I won’t tell Jo.”</p><p>“You’ve got a deal,” said Roger with a tense laugh. “Got any twos?”</p><p>“Bastard,” muttered Brian as he handed Roger two cards.</p><p>After the third round of go-fish, after a stewardess knocked the deck off Roger’s armrest, Brian called it quits.</p><p>“What else’ve we got to do?” grumbled Roger as he scooped cards up off the floor with Brian.</p><p>“I’m taking a nap, you can do whatever you like,” said Brian.</p><p>“How can you of all people sleep on a fucking plane?” Roger gestured to the way his legs were uncomfortably battling the seat in front of him. “My legs hurt just from the altitude, I can’t imagine yours.”</p><p>“It’s not so bad,” Brian laughed. “Or maybe I’m just that tired.”</p><p>“Fuck’s sake, what’m I gonna do for the next three hours,” said Roger as he handed back the stack of cards he collected.</p><p>“You thought I was going to play cards with you for three hours?” Brian laughed. “You can read my book if you like, but I’ll be asleep.”</p><p>Roger glared at Brian for a moment, then reached across the aisle and dragged Brian’s book off his tray table. “If nothing else it’ll put me to sleep.”</p><p>“I know you’re smart, Rog,” Brian snickered, “you don’t have to play dumb-blond with me.”</p><p>“Keep your voice down,” laughed Roger.</p><p>“Secret’s safe with me.”</p><p>Brian fell asleep in minutes. He had no trouble sleeping sitting up, with his legs all bent out of shape, and the headrest digging into his neck. Roger had never been more envious. John was on his other side had a neck pillow, a sleeping mask, a blanket, and two long since emptied shots of some whiskey brand he didn’t recognise, or rather couldn’t recognise with his eyesight. Dead asleep and comfortable by the looks of it, comfortable in a way that made Roger jealous.</p><p>“Can I have a few shots?” said Roger to no one in particular as his finger kept his place on the page he was midway through reading.</p><p>“You already had some at the beginning of the flight, they didn’t help then, they won’t help now,” said Freddie, half asleep next to him.</p><p>“This is hell, this is really hell,” said Roger.</p><p>“It wasn’t hell when you were playing cards,” Freddie readjusted, rested his head on Roger’s shoulder.</p><p>“Well, it’s hell now,” Roger groaned. He refocused on the page in front of him, tried to get into the text, tried to pay attention long enough to get hooked or to at least fall asleep in the attempt.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The first show or two was a little, incrementally effected by the jet lag from flying so long. Roger knew the audience couldn’t really tell if he fell off beat once, maybe even twice. They wouldn’t notice Freddie taking the easier harmony and avoiding a high note or two, wouldn’t notice Brian slowing up his solos, or John skipping the more difficult runs and supplementing the main groove. Their tiredness showed itself in ways invisible to anyone not on their stage with them. But after a few cities Roger didn’t care to learn the names of, Detroit, a few shows in Boston. They finally hit New York.</p><p>The excitement, the electricity of the city, got in them all. Back stage, their makeup application was rushed and overdone, taken off entirely reapplied and still too over the top. Roger, usually one to skip out on the eyeliner pencils and sponges of foundation, found himself fluffing his hair, fiddling with the sequins on his outfit. They couldn’t explain it, it was just another city after all was said and done, but something about the name, the title of the city printed on the tickets, gave it all a sense of grandeur, of accomplishment. And they played like it too.</p><p>Roger’s back and forths on stage were mostly between him and John. They kept in time with each other and worked around each other to beef up the rhythm section for each of their shows. It was partially John’s introversion that had him lingering around the drum risers for every show, and partially that desire to riff off each other and deviate if only slightly from the rehearsed pieces to add bits and hints of flair under the melodies and harmonies.</p><p>But tonight, Brian was looking back, grinning and working the melodies, leaving spaces for Roger’s fills, and spinning back to the crowd once Roger’d done something sufficiently amazing. He turned more and more, Freddie occasionally joining in, cheering him one, letting him show off a bit. He worked the kit as hard as he could, passed it off to Brian to solo, who threw it back his way while Freddie lengthened and improvised lyrics over the melodies and John did his jerky dancing with his bass riff on a loop until it was time for them to make room for Mott.</p><p>“Blew them away, we did,” said Freddie, dabbing his sweaty face with a towel as they shut themselves up in the dressing room that, if they were honest, was too small for four men, but it was what they had.</p><p>“Off to a good start, I reckon,” said Roger, dragging a towel over his glistening chest, across his shoulders. “Feel like I’ve been swimming after sitting under those lights.”</p><p>“You’re a right mess, that’s for sure,” said Brian, grinning at Roger through the vanity mirror.</p><p>“You’re one to talk,” Roger scoffed, “you sweated off all that foundation you slathered on before the show.”</p><p>“Only <em>most</em> of it,” corrected Brian.</p><p>“I sweated off <em>none</em> of it,” said Freddie, “because I take my own advice when setting my fucking makeup.”</p><p>“We can’t all be beautiful like you,” said John with fake lamentation in his voice.</p><p>“You sure can’t,” laughed Freddie.</p><p>“So, where’re we going after Mott’s set?” Roger fiddled with the way his hair framed his face in the mirror.</p><p>“Dunno,” Freddie shrugged. “Some place Mott’s people like a lot, supposed to be very up and coming.”</p><p>“I’m still groggy from the flight,” said Brian.</p><p>“It’s our first night in New York,” Freddie turned with passion to face him, “if you don’t come out with us I’ll take it as a personal offense and no amount of explaining to the contrary will do anything to change my mind.”</p><p>“Well that <em>does</em> sound reasonable,” laughed Brian.</p><p>“I know it does,” Freddie turned back to the mirror, fiddled with his hair.</p><p>“Brian’s just priming the pump now, telling us he’s groggy so when he strikes out multiple times later on he’ll have an excuse for why,” said Roger with a smirk, trying not to laugh too hard at the way Brian glared at him through the mirror.</p><p>“I think next show I won’t give you so much space in the melody,” said Brian with an air of indignation that made it clear he was joking.</p><p>“I’ll just beat the drums loud enough to drown you out,” said Roger as he fell into the seat at Brian’s side.</p><p>“You two’re so annoying,” said Freddie with a smirk.</p><p>“But we did sound good together, didn’t we,” said Roger with a bit of cockiness seeping into his tone.</p><p>“Yes,” Freddie groaned, “but at what cost. You’re both already so arrogant.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk,” said John with a laugh that they all four shared.</p><p>“But really,” said Roger, quiet enough to focus on Brian, “we were good, we sound good like that.”</p><p>“Next show, I can do the same,” said Brian. “It’s sort of fun turning around and seeing you about to do something wild.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Roger smirked. “You big into my drumming now or are you just enamoured with the view?” he teased.</p><p>“Must every compliment I give you be because deep down I’m secretly in love?” sighed Brian.</p><p>“No but it’s more interesting that way,” laughed Roger.</p><p>After they’d cleaned up enough and change into clothes with a little less sequins, they watched from the wings the rest of Mott’s set. Mott really captivated the crowd but, if Roger were honest with himself, Freddie did a better job stealing the attention than Mott did. Once their whole band was sufficiently dried off after the set, they meandered out the back.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Roger didn’t catch the name of the place. Mick, the guitarist, had told him the name but Roger hadn’t quite heard it over the roar of the New York streets. When they finally made it, the neon sign blurred in the dark of the night, the letters all blended together. But the name didn’t matter in the end. He knew it was dark, lit with only red bulbs, and cosy in a way that he found enticing, that others might find intimidating, and he knew it was supposed to be a good time in ways London clubs couldn’t offer.</p><p>The women inside, hell, all the people inside, looked off the wall. Tassels, feathers, leather, bright vibrant colours, clothes that just didn’t go together in Roger’s mind adorned most of the patrons. And where many of the people crammed into the club wore outrageous things even Roger would consider too much, others wore next to nothing, and no one seemed to notice it. No one noticed the clothes, no one noticed the topless woman sitting on the bar filing away at her nails, no one noticed the man sat by the window, putting his cigarettes out on the glass, using the ash to create swirls. No one minded the two people of some gender Roger couldn’t pinpoint sticking their tongues down each other’s throat on the dance floor while the loud music blared.</p><p>Freddie sat at the bar, the bassist from Mott at his side, both chatting quite innocently with the topless woman, drinks in their hands. John was on the dance floor, flanked by a strikingly beautiful woman, and a young boy, both of which seemed to think they had an equal chance with him. That was their speed. Freddie liked to meet the most interesting characters he could find in any given place. John liked to drink, to dance, to maybe meet someone to take home. Roger wasn’t much of a dancer, wasn’t much one for associating with people he would avoid in the daylight. He was there for the company he hoped to bring back to his hotel room. Brian was of a similar nature. Too shy to dance, too normal to offer anything up for the eccentric people in the room.</p><p>Roger ordered whiskey, straight, how he always took it. Brian ordered some concoction off the local menu. It came with an orange peel and an olive and was purple by the looks of it. Roger thought it might be the red lights in the club tricking his eyes but, no, it was definitely purple. They stood at a small, round table, made for close conversation, just on the edge of the dance floor. Roger eyed the room, looking for anyone who looked sane and thin enough to take back with him. He wasn’t much interested in the women with shaved heads and pierced cheekbones. And judging by the way they looked at him, they weren’t interested in him either.</p><p>“So what was that about me striking out?” teased Brian as they came to the end of their drinks and the end of their ropes with the women around.</p><p>“I’ve got a feeling we’re both going to leave here with a bad case of jet lag,” sighed Roger as he eyed the crowd.</p><p>“Doesn’t sound like you,” said Brian. “You’re normally chasing skirt until you give out.”</p><p>“Chasing <em>normal</em> skirt,” said Roger with a scoff, “anyone in here look normal to you?”</p><p>“Did you see the girl, the one with the er,” Brian gestured over his left eye.</p><p>“The spiderweb tattoo on her eye?” said Roger.</p><p>“That’s the one,” said Brian with a snap. “Maybe we came on the wrong night?” offered Brian with a shrug.</p><p>“Don’t think that’s it,” said Roger, glancing around, trying to ignore the stares from the men in the club, all directed right at Roger’s arse.</p><p>“That girl John’s with is—” began Brian.</p><p>“If he doesn’t take her home, I certainly fucking will,” said Roger, eyeing the way the woman danced with John. John wasn’t a good dancer, his movements were mostly jerking motions and spins. The woman wasn’t much of a dancer either, her motions not particularly sexy or coordinated. But her skirt was tight, her arse was too, and Roger could tell her waist would fit in his hands just right. Not to mention her face, perfectly symmetrical, flawless to the point of disbelief. “I hope he doesn’t take her home.”</p><p>“What makes you so sure she’ll go for you if she ditches John?” laughed Brian.</p><p>“C’mon,” scoffed Roger. “It’s me.”</p><p>“So cocky,” Brian rolled his eyes.</p><p>“With good reason,” he downed the rest of his whiskey. “History has shown, women like me.”</p><p>“What if<em> I</em> want the night with her?” said Brian, looking at Roger over his drink. “Think she’ll pick you over me?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Roger flatly.</p><p>“You don’t think I’d be charismatic enough to win her over?” Brian laughed.</p><p>“No,” said Roger with a smirk. “You’ve got about as much charm as I had when I was thirteen.”</p><p>“We’ll just see,” said Brian with confidence Roger knew was unearned.</p><p>“What d’you mean ‘we’ll see’,” laughed Roger. “You gonna swipe her off John to prove a point?”</p><p>“Don’t have to,” Brian subtly pointed with the drink in his hand out onto the dance floor. The woman had been replaced by someone a little shorter than her, a younger girl with better dance moves. And she was headed their way, her eyes not really catching on them, looking right through them for a moment, until she was no more than a few feet from their table and recognition, realisation donned on her.</p><p>“You two’re with Mott aren’t you?” she said with a wide grin, showcasing bright white teeth and dimples.</p><p>“Sort of,” said Brian, a little too quiet.</p><p>“We’re in Queen, the opening act,” said Roger, louder, with more confidence.</p><p>“I thought you looked familiar,” the woman sidled up to their table, standing directly across from the two of them with her bright, round eyes and shiny dark blonde hair.</p><p>“Did you catch the show?” said Brian.</p><p>“I did.” She grinned, reached for Roger’s whiskey and took a sip. “You were amazing, but I didn’t have the best view. I can’t remember what you two played.”</p><p>“Er, I—“ began Brian.</p><p>“I’m the drummer. Roger.” said Roger, leaning into her just a bit, “And he’s the guitarist,” he added.</p><p>“Ah,” she let her finger trace the lip of Roger’s glass, “so you’re the power,” she turned to Brian, “and you’re the details.”</p><p>“That’s…” Roger looked to Brian, “one way of looking at it, sure.”</p><p>Roger ordered her another drink, got himself one in the process, and wondered why she wasn’t hanging on his every word while they spoke. Wondered why she was still turning to Brian, still chatting with him, still grinning and asking him things. Why hadn’t he won this round yet when Brian was still so timid, still avoiding eye contact every now and again, and answering in garbled fragments of sentences. Why wasn’t the choice clear by then. He inched closer to her, meandered around the little table, just big enough for them all to lean on, and put an arm across her shoulders, something Brian would never have the stomach to do, something she seemed to understand the motive behind when she asked, “what hotel are you two in?”</p><p>“A few blocks down the way, it’s about as lavish as the Ritz apparently,” said Roger with a laugh.</p><p>“Oh is it?” the woman giggled.</p><p>“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” said Roger against her cheek.</p><p>“I’d love to,” she hummed, grinned and took a deep sobering breath in before downing the last of the whiskey Roger bought her and heading towards the exit.</p><p>“Better luck next time,” teased Roger with a clap on Brian’s shoulder. He hopped to catch up with her and put a hand on her waist once he did. “It’s only a short walk.”</p><p>“I’m fine with a bit of a walk—oh, wait—” she turned to Roger, looked past him, then stepped back and called, “Brian, hurry up!”</p><p>“What—Brian?” said Roger, looking behind her, eyeing Brian, who was eyeing him with the same look of disbelief and confusion.</p><p>“Sure,” the woman shrugged. “Can’t leave without him.”</p><p>“I…suppose not,” said Roger, watching the way Brian awkwardly negotiated the other patrons to get to them.</p><p>She held a hand out for Brian to hold when he caught up. And Brian took it, let the woman lace her fingers with his. And Roger let her do the same to him with her other hand, and led the way down the stairs and out onto the street, wondering if he was headed where he thought he was headed.</p><p>“So er,” began Roger, about a block from the club, the music booming from the building just beginning to die off, “so where’re we going?” asked Roger a bit awkwardly but he figured he earned the right to a bit of awkward conversation considering Brian was holding her hand as well.</p><p>“To your hotel, aren’t we?” said the woman.</p><p>“Okay…” said Roger dragging the sound out, “so…” he looked over her head at Brian, Brian looked back, just as lost as Roger, “so what’re we gonna do there?”</p><p>The woman laughed. “What? Are you virgins or something? I thought it’d be pretty obvious what we’re gonna do.”</p><p>“Ah—ah, ha,” stammered Roger as he took one last halfstep before stopping entirely. Brian made a similar noise, stopped in a similar way. But neither of them let go of her hands. She only laughed and shook their hands off, turned to face them both with a wide grin full of innocence.</p><p>“Is this that prudish english culture I’ve heard so much about?” she teased.</p><p>“I’m not gonna fuck him,” said Roger.</p><p>“Who said you’d fuck me, maybe <em>I’d</em> be fucking <em>you</em>,” said Brian.</p><p>“As if that’s the fucking point!” said Roger.</p><p>“I didn’t ask either of you to fuck each other,” she laughed like that was meant to be obvious. “I’m asking you to share.”</p><p>“What’s that mean?” said Roger with a tense laugh.</p><p>“It means,” she took a step closer to them both, put her left hand on Brian’s exposed collarbone, her right on Roger’s neck, “I’m too much for just one. If you want me, you have to share.”</p><p>Roger stared down at her, at her big doe eyes and her pouty lips, and focused on the electric heat of her touch against his neck, trailing up his cheek, her thumb tracing his bottom lip, and everything in him begged him to take her right then, right there. Maybe that feeling didn’t necessarily stop or weaken with Brian in the room but, God it was just too strange, crossing one too many lines.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Roger mumbled.</p><p>“I don’t either,” said Brian.</p><p>“C’mon,” she took their hands again, “we need more drinks.”</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>She brought them to her flat, or apartment as she called it. Poured them whiskey mixed with bourbon, all from one bottle, lit a joint that Roger sucked in about as fast as it was handed to him and passed it to Brian. He let the smoke out of his lungs slowly and swallowed his drink practically in one gulp. The woman topped him up before excusing herself to take a quick shower.</p><p>“You’re not really gonna do this are you?” said Roger under his breath, as if she might hear him over the noise of the shower in the other room.</p><p>“Are<em> you?”</em> said Brian, sucking in more smoke than he could handle and coughing it out fast than it’d gone in.</p><p>“Fuck’s sake, I don’t want you watching me fuck her,” said Roger, his stomach turning a bit at the thought.</p><p>“Then leave,” said Brian flatly.</p><p>“Why the fuck don’t <em>you</em> leave?” said Roger, quieter but more sharp in his annunciation as the weed and the drinks got to him and convinced him he was screaming.</p><p>“Because she’s gorgeous,” scoffed Brian.</p><p>“You’d really fuck me to get to her?” said Roger, his voice strained.</p><p>“Fuck no,” spat Brian, “it’s not gonna fucking come to that ‘cause you’re gonna leave.” He said it like he knew it to be true. With an air of superiority and knowledge he didn’t deserve in the slightest. As if Roger would chicken out, would leave first and just hand over the spoils to Brian. As if Roger wouldn’t do everything in his power to call Brian’s bluff, to get him out of this woman’s flat so Roger could have her all to himself.</p><p>“Give me that,” spat Roger as he reached over and snagged the joint from Brian.</p><p>They sat on opposite ends of the small couch the woman had, not much room between them but the absolute maximum they could get. Her coffee table was covered in magazines and incense ash. When she came out of the shower she added to it, lit something she said would relax them. Her towel was loose around her body, sagging down her back, exposing her clear, tanned skin, giving them both a glimpse of herself as she put a record on. Something Hendrix that if Roger had been more sober he could’ve named off the bat.</p><p>She laughed and teased them for how tense they looked, both leaning away from each other with their legs crossed and their grips on their drinks tight. Roger and Brian laughed with her but didn’t relax.</p><p>Her flat was small, a couch, a telly, a record player in the window, and a bed. She meandered through the tight spaces, lifting her feet high with each step, showing off more and more of her legs as she went, and came to settle on Roger’s lap. Ran a hand through his hair, kissed him deep and hard with a quiet moan in the back of her throat. Roger felt certain then, as the towel fell from her grip, as he cupped one of her newly exposed breasts, as she breathed softs sighs against his neck, he was certain Brian would leave.</p><p>She pulled away from Roger, grinned down at him, slid off his lap and into the small space between him and Brian, and draped a leg over Brian’s, pulled him by his collar down towards her, into a kiss. Roger crossed his legs, leant away, and focused on his drink while he tried very desperately to drown out the sounds Brian made.</p><p>“C’mere,” whispered the woman to Brian. Roger glanced over to see her easing his shirt off. Brian looked so small then, so vulnerable as he looked down at the woman with innocent eyes and anxiety painted into his expression. The woman must’ve noticed it too as she let her hands roam Brian’s bony body with adoration in every touch. “And you too,” she said, turning to Roger.</p><p>“Er,” began Roger, unsure now if the competition with Brian was worth this going any further. But with one quick glance at Brian’s shy, timid expression, his arms doing their best to cover his body, Roger knew he’d pack it in at any moment and wasted no time peeling his shirt off over his head.</p><p>Roger didn’t leave, and Brian didn’t give. Roger thought he might when the woman unzipped them both and eased their trousers off. Thought Brian might bolt when she tossed her towel over the side of the couch and playfully instructed them to do the same with their pants. They both froze for a moment, looking at each other then, waiting for the other to give in and bow out. But neither did. They peeled off their pants, tossed them aside and were very careful about not looking anywhere below eye level. And when the woman stroked them in a comfortable unison, they both turned away, Roger staring at the door, Brian staring out the window. Both ignoring the choked sounds the other made while the woman worked them so expertly. Not her first time have two men, not judging by how adept she was with her left hand.</p><p>She asked them to stand. They both hesitated, eyed each other with silent pleas for the other to go home, then they stood, and both tried to pretend they hadn’t noticed the other’s hard cock in their field of view as the woman sank to her knees in front of them.</p><p>She put her mouth on Roger first, took him deep in an instant, and made him whine before doing the same to Brian. Back and forth and back and forth. He hated hearing Brian’s deep, choked moans, but he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched when he heard them, the way his whole body ached thinking of what the woman was doing to elicit those noises. When Brian grunted, deep and guttural, Roger whined in response, aching and leaking in anticipation of that same thing being done to him. When the woman took him deeper than she had before and swallowed around him, left him groaning with no control over his volume, he heard Brian whine in the same way.</p><p>“Mm,” the woman hummed, standing as she lazily stroked their cocks. She kissed Brian, lightly, then the corner of Roger’s mouth. The whispered for them both to shut their eyes as she sped up her stroking. When she brushed her tongue against Roger’s he could taste himself, though he wondered, if maybe that was Brian. And he wondered, with his eyes shut and his mind focused on the woman’s practiced grip, if Brian tasted the same thing, wondered the same thing when she broke away and kissed him. Wondered if that should’ve been what ended the night and killed the mood.</p><p>He sighed when the woman twisted her wrist and eased his hand down he side, across her hip, and slowly between her legs, feeling the wetness there, sliding his fingers through it before plunging one deep in her, adding another soon after and hooking them inside her. He moved slow and heavy in her, in and out, back and forth, until Brian’s fingertips brushed against his hand. Roger wicked his hand away in an instant, and when he opened his eyes he saw Brian had done the same and was breathing just as hard as Roger.</p><p>“Boys,” the woman laughed, “you’ve got to relax.” She stepped away, stepped around the couch and hopped up on her bed, let her legs spread and leant back on her palms. “Don’t keep me waiting.”</p><p>“Who do you want first?” said Brian.</p><p>“First?” she laughed and cocked her head.</p><p>“We’re taking turns,” said Roger, a bit more adamant. “I’m not touching him.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s not touching me,” repeated Brian with a shake in his voice.</p><p>The woman just rolled her eyes and let her hand moved subtly between her legs, let two fingers sink inside as she spoke. “The point of two, is the feeling of both, both at once,” her breath hitched as she moved her fingers. “Think of it, how stretched and tight I’ll be with two cocks in me,” she hummed, “you’ll never feel anything like it, not without a little touching.” She sighed and hooked her fingers inside herself a little harder. “It’ll never feel as good, as tight, as it will like this.”</p><p>Roger felt a pit in his stomach, a shake in his breathing, and couldn’t help the way he stroked his cock at the sight of her, at the thought of what she described. And from the corner of his eye he could see Brian doing the same, both trying to discreetly stroke themselves, and reason their way out of and into the situation.</p><p>“Are you gonna leave?” whispered Brian. Roger looked up at him, averting his gaze when he remembered his hand was on his cock.</p><p>“No,” breathed Roger.</p><p>“I don’t think I will either,” said Brian, almost as a precaution. A final warning to them both that neither would leave, that they’d share her and all of the strange intimacies that came with it.</p><p>Brian was the first to break and hurry to her bed. Roger sipped and finished his drink off knowing he’d need it and tried to ignore the pained, choked moans that came from Brian when the woman pinned him to her bed and sat on his cock, rolled her hips on him, made him cry out and thrust up for more. Roger didn’t look, tried not to look anyway, as the woman directed him around to her nightstand and instructed him on where to find the lube she kept. All the while her voice hitching in pauses and deep moans as she rode Brian.</p><p>Her legs bracketed Brian’s hips, and Roger’s legs bracketed his thighs when he joined them on the bed. She leant down, pressing her chest to Brian’s, and kissed him, and moaned Roger’s name as Roger coated two fingers in lube and stretched her. And tried to ignore the newly and clearly visible sight of Brian’s cock gentle thrusting up into her when she was still for too long. He rushed it, rushed opening her up, desperate to fill her with his cock, to close his eyes, and ignore Brian’s involvement entirely. He sank in and she groaned, screamed some odd combination of their names and rocked back into both of them.</p><p>She was right. Much tighter than he’d ever had. Hot, searing, wet, and welcoming. He swore and gripped her hips, pulled her back against him and leant over her to bite her shoulder, to rut into her with more power and purpose. He thrust in deep and heard her cry out when he did. And heard Brian moan with her. He ignored it, he had to. And he moved again, and heard Brian moan, quieter this time, just barely audible under the woman’s groaning.</p><p>Roger sat up and brushed his thumb over the bitemark he’d left in the woman’s shoulder, opened his eyes cautiously, tried to ignore the glimpse of Brian in his peripheral and held her hips tightly as he moved, quick and deep. And she moaned, louder and louder, and Brian moaned, quieter and quieter until Roger caught a glimpse of him covering his mouth. Roger couldn’t understand that. He wasn’t a fan of hearing Brian, knew Brian must not have been a fan of hearing him. But the woman felt like heaven, they’d have to be dead to make no sound, no point in pretending not to enjoy it.</p><p>“Feels good doesn’t it?” the woman husked against Brian’s lips, “his cock against yours, it’s <em>just right</em> isn’t it,” she said with a grin that faded quick to a moan when Roger pistoned inside her. Roger stared down at them both, distracted but curious about what the woman was saying, what she meant by the. “Go on, give it back to him, he’s earned it,” she hummed against Brian’s cheek.</p><p>“Er,” Brian looked at her, kept his eyes open when she kissed him, and looked up at Roger with an awkward, almost apologetic gaze. And he thrust up. And Roger knew he thrust up, deep inside her, because he felt it. Not Brian’s thighs moving up towards his own or the soft undulation of their bodies, but he felt Brian’s cock move in her, deep in her, the separation between them so thin, so pliant, he could practically feel every contour of Brian’s cock. Felt him do it again, and again, always rubbing against him so expertly, like he could tell what felt good against Roger’s cock.</p><p>“Fuck,” grunted Roger, staring down at Brian with confusion and a bright blush across his cheeks. Brian didn’t look much better, all wide eyed and panting, shaking and moaning as he thrust up into the woman, against Roger, almost entirely on instinct and need.</p><p>Was it wrong, Roger wondered, to keep going. To pound deeper into the woman knowing it was getting Brian off, to like it when Brian did the same for him. Was it odd to watch him do it. To watch his face twist up in pleasure when Roger fucked into her hard, to wonder if Brian watched him when he threw his head back and moaned. He never did answer any of those questions. The tight heat of the woman, the perfect undulations of Brian’s cock overwhelmed him beyond the point of reasonable thought. Beyond the point of trying to stay quiet, beyond the point of trying not to look at Brian.</p><p>Brian closed his eyes tight, breathed deep and reached down, reached for the woman’s hip, paused, and kept going down, reached for Roger’s knee, planted firm on the outside of Brian’s hip. He clawed up his thigh as far as he could reach and moved faster in the woman, faster against Roger’s cock desperate for a release that Roger could feel coming. He could feel the way Brian throbbed in her, knew Brian could feel the same from him. And when he came, Roger could feel that too, could feel the pulsing. The pulsing that eventually sent Roger over the edge with him. He swore, dug his nails into the woman’s hip, and took a sharp breath in when he heard Brian groan his name.</p><p>And as they caught their breath, came down from their tipsy highs, Roger stared down at Brian, who stared right back up at him, eyes half lidded but wild, with guilt, with fear, how Roger knew he must look himself. The woman hummed, jerked her hips, made them both shiver with oversensitivity. She giggled, gave them each some compliment Roger was too distracted to hear. He pulled out, let his hand linger across the woman’s back as he rolled off and sat up on the bed next to her, next to Brian, and ran a tense hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp, trying to keep his heart from racing.</p><p>“Best one yet,” said the woman with a deep lingering kiss to Brian’s lips before she rolled off him and sat up to give Roger the same. A kiss he found he could barely tolerate at the moment, much less enjoy. “You two look like deer in headlights,” she teased, one hand on Roger’s cheek, her gaze flitting between them. “Don’t panic about it too much,” she stretched her arms up and laid back down by Brian, “you’re rockers, you’re supposed to get wild, right?”</p><p>Brian laughed with her weakly, and sat up. Roger laughed too, fake and halfhearted and looked back at Brian, trying to gauge what came next. They stayed still for a moment, eyeing the other and ignoring the way the woman twisted and contorted trying to get comfortable in her sheets, then almost in unison, they stood, started searching for their discarded clothes, started tugging everything back on, never letting their eyes fall on the other. As if modesty now, as if making pointed efforts to avoid each other’s nakedness as it was covered back up, would somehow negate what they’d done.</p><p>“Have a good show tomorrow night,” said the woman with a tired wave after Roger said he had to take his leave and Brian seconded that. “Tell that bassist of yours I say hello, he was so sweet.”</p><p>“Sure,” said Roger with a tense laugh as his hands shook around her doorknob. Eventually he pulled the door open with one big heave, held it open for Brian, and awkwardly walked by his side down the four flights of stairs it took to get back outside, back onto the pavement where the cold night air invaded their lungs.</p><p>“Er, the hotel’s er—it’s this way isn’t it?” said Brian. Roger paid him no mind, too panicked, too desperately searching for the marlboros in his pocket. His sweaty hand fought the leather trying to get them out and he nearly shook the whole pack out onto the street in his attempt to get one cigarette free. He stuffed the pack back in his pocket, searched his other side for the lighter. “Here,” Brian held out a flame for him, off a lighter Roger hadn’t noticed he had. He looked up at him for a moment, and slowly leant into the flame, slowly breathed in the relaxing smoke, deep into his lungs, deep into every inch of him. “Hotel’s this way.”</p><p>“You’re sure?” said Roger, clearing his throat, shaking his hands out, shaking the night off.</p><p>“Think so,” said Brian, starting in the direction he’d pointed, Roger going right along with him. “You still a little drunk?”</p><p>“That er,” Roger flicked the ash onto the pavement, “that sobered me up a fair amount,” he added with an awkward grin. “You alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” said Brian, “never drank too much.”</p><p>“I meant more…” Roger gestured vaguely with his cigarette before taking another long drag and adding, “nevermind.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Brian, realisation dawning on him as they crossed the street briskly and waved to the cabbie who had narrowly avoided running them over, “er, yeah, I’m fine. You are too, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Me?” Roger scoffed with fake confidence. “Takes a lot more than that to shake me.”</p><p>“What have you done that before?” said Brian. “Did you know it would be like that?”</p><p>“No no,” said Roger quickly, “no if I had had any idea I wouldn’t’ve…no, I’ve never done that.”</p><p>“Hm,” hummed Brian, thoughtful as ever, pensive as ever. Roger could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind. “It was still good though,” he said under his breath. He looked over at Roger, turning to him for confirmation almost and getting a blank stare in return. “Maybe I am still drunk,” he added with an awkward laugh.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” said Roger with the same forced laugh. He watched the way Brian’s shoulders hunched in embarrassment, watched the way he walked a little fast, not quite in step with Roger, and wanted to say something. To tell him it was good, to tell him, despite how odd the night had been, it’d felt good, better than any fuck he’d had before. But saying that out loud carried a weight with it Roger didn’t like. Didn’t care to admit out loud that he liked that heavy drag of Brian’s cock against his, liked fucking, rutting against Brian, liked watching him writhe, liked watching him come just as much as he’d like all the same from the woman. That was too much to consider, to let roll around in his head, and wasn’t worth confronting it all right then just to stroke Brian’s ego.</p><p>They made it to the hotel in silence. Called the elevator, rode it up to their floor, and let themselves into their rooms with no more words between them except muffled and insincere ‘goodnights’. Roger locked his door, like that would help him and hurried to run a boiling hot shower, to rinse off the strange pleasure of the night.</p><p>Part of him wanted to dip into his old hippie beliefs, his old preachings about free love and experimentation. Granted, those preachings had mostly been used to get the girls in his class to fuck him, and eachother. But staring in the mirror, his hair slicked down with water, his features severe in the fluorescent lights, he wondered if he could really believe it, could really by what he used to sell about things like this not mattering, things like this being part of the human experience. If he could really just relax and laugh and look back fondly on the night. On the newness of it, on the pleasure it wrung out of him. If he could forget that, for the most part, Brian had wrung it out of him. He fell asleep still unsure.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 2 ! A bit longer than the first! I don't mean for these chapters to get so long but hopefully that's good news rather than bad! hope you enjoy it &lt;33 and if you do please comment!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
<p></p></div><p>They had a few nights in New York, Roger couldn’t remember when they were supposed to end but he didn’t miss the cheap flights, and he didn’t miss the car trips between cities too close to deem it worth flying. And if he had to be stuck in any one city, New York would be it.</p>
<p>The only trouble was the lack of newness. The lack of distraction. They wore out their tourist bullshit the first day and half, and the nights were all the same in different clubs with different people. It made Roger’s topics for conversation wear thin. Which was fine with Freddie, John, everyone else around them on their tour. But when he found himself running out of conversation to share with Brian, it turned painful, made his heart stop, made him panic in a way he wasn’t used to. It was only in their quiet, few moments alone. Caught in elevators together, alone in the dressing rooms when the others had wandered out, in the halls of their shitty hotel. Quick moments that Roger still was unable to fill with normal conversation. The panicked flush on Brian’s face and his wide eyes told Roger he was usually at a similar loss for words in those moments.</p>
<p>At least their shows weren’t effected, that was all that really mattered when it came down to it. Brian still grinned at him and urged him to solo, Roger still grinned back and showed off as best he could. And in those private but showcased moments, it was like it’d never happened. Or rather, like it never bothered them.</p>
<p>After the show came the celebration. Freddie had found yet another club for them. Some place he heard about from one of his new friends. More normal, by leaps and bounds, than what Roger had expected Freddie to lead them to. He sat, nursing a drink in a booth with Mott’s drummer. A girl between them that was more interested in Roger than Roger wanted her to be. No challenge there. So he kept downing whiskeys, kept talking over her with Mott’s drummer, kept trying get a little bite, a little gruffness out of her to no avail. She was flimsy and easily washed out.</p>
<p>But she was willing. Willing, thin, and pretty. So Roger didn’t mind putting up with the placating contributions to the conversation she offered up.</p>
<p>“You ever seen the inside of a <em>Holiday Inn</em>,” said Roger with a laugh, taking the last sip of his drink. A little too drunk to remember how many he’d had by then.</p>
<p>“You’re spoiling me,” said the woman with a grin.</p>
<p>“Finish that drink and we’ll go,” he said, heard Mott’s drummer groan in relative defeat on the other side of her. He hadn’t exactly been a real competitor for her, especially since for the first ten minutes of her company Roger hadn’t shown a shred of interest and she still hung on every word. “C’mon, c’mon,” said Roger, playfully rushing her to finish the orange slushed drink. She told him all the strange ratios of practically every alcohol on earth early in the night, he hadn’t cared enough to remember.</p>
<p>“Almost,” said the woman, pulling off her straw and wincing at the cold drink. Roger huffed and turned his attention on the club while he waited for her to finish that ridiculous drink he’d paid far too much for.</p>
<p>John was out on the dance floor, talking close with some woman Roger couldn’t get a good look at from his seat. Freddie was in a corner, a man at his side, one finger slipped through Freddie’s beltloop. They were in public, but it felt private, so Roger averted his eyes, coughed like he’d been caught. In his frantic attempt to look away from Freddie he looked directly at Brian. Saw his big curly hair, rushing to the stairs out. The night was young, relatively young, Roger hadn’t seen a woman follow or lead him out. So where the fuck was he going.</p>
<p>“You done yet?” barked Roger.</p>
<p>“Almost,” said the woman apologetically.</p>
<p>Roger paused for a moment, weighed his options and said, “wait right here, I’ll be back,” and drunkenly stumbled to the stairs out. He hopped up them two at a time before getting out into the cold night air. He scanned down both sides of the pavement, looking for Brian’s curls and spotting them a ways down the road, close enough to catch him if he picked up his pace to a brisk walk. So he did. He hurried along through the other pedestrians, drunkenly bumping into a few and apologising to deaf ears until he reached Brian.</p>
<p>“Where’re you going?” said Roger, not liking how much more slurred his words sounded outside of the club.</p>
<p>Brian turned back, a little surprised, a little flushed. “Er—Isn’t it obvious?” said Brian, pointing down the road. His words slurred too, almost as bad as Roger. “Headed to the hotel.”</p>
<p>“Well why?” Roger crossed his arms, hoping that might give him some level of authority.</p>
<p>“Dunno,” Brian kept walking, Roger walked with him, “didn’t feel in the mood for company I guess.”</p>
<p>“Oh, sorry—” began Roger.</p>
<p>“You don’t count,” added Brian quickly.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger looked up at him, the neon of New York blurred behind him and his hair, his expression unreadable, his eyes soft “good,” he mumbled, turning his attention back on the pavement in front of them. They walked another block in stumbling silence, bumping into each other when they fell off balance but never falling.</p>
<p>“Don’t you have to get back to that woman?” said Brian as they waited to cross a busier intersection, both a little too drunk to really gauge when it was safe to go.</p>
<p>“She’s boring,” said Roger with a shrug, his eyes locked on the headlights headed their way, waiting for them to disappear so they could cross.</p>
<p>“Boring?” Brian scoffed. “She was gorgeous.”</p>
<p>“But boring,” said Roger, looking back and forth across the intersection, waiting for it to darken from the absence of cars rushing through.</p>
<p>“Boring huh,” Brian mumbled thoughtfully, “hey, do you ever—” began Brian.</p>
<p>The headlights disappeared. Roger’s little shriek of ‘okay now’ drowned out whatever Brian had begun to say. Roger took hold of his arm and hurried them across the intersection. Roger jumped up on the curb, Brian tripped up it and caught himself on Roger’s shoulder before he fell clear over.</p>
<p>“I figured you’d’ve mastered walking by now.” Roger teased</p>
<p>“These shoes don’t have the most traction,” said Brian.</p>
<p>Roger looked down at his scuffed up clogs and sighed, “I bet they don’t.”</p>
<p>“Don’t look at them like that,” laughed Brian. “They’re comfortable.”</p>
<p>Roger, his eyes still glued on the disaster of Brian’s shoes, sighed and added, “they certainly look comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” groaned Brian. He took a step forward, leaving Roger to catch up to his ridiculously long stride.</p>
<p>“Slow down,” spat Roger, a little embarrassed by how much faster he had to walk to keep even with Brian once he’d caught up.</p>
<p>“Grow,” laughed Brian. Roger shoved him, Brian shoved back with no real force behind it.</p>
<p>“What were you saying, before,” said Roger, both curious and hoping to distract Brian from taking any more shots at his height. “Do I ever what?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Brian fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeve. “Wasn’t important.”</p>
<p>“Go on,” said Roger, taking a step in front of his path, just to throw him off.</p>
<p>“Just, I,” he cleared his throat, stood up a little straighter. The odd silence made Roger drift his focus from the pavement ahead of them, up to Brian’s pensive, intense expression. His profile outlined brightly by the streetlights, his gaze refusing to fall on Roger, refusing to look anywhere but forwards. “I was wondering if you thought about that woman, y’know, since we…”</p>
<p>“Ah,” said Roger, turning his gaze straight ahead to match Brian. “Sure, yeah.”</p>
<p>“In a good way?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“I guess,” said Roger. He shook his head. “I don’t know—why’re you asking?”</p>
<p>“No reason,” Brian shrugged. Roger saw him stuff his hands in his pockets nervously, but didn’t let his eyes linger on him. “I don’t know, it was—I don’t know, things just felt off I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em>you’ve</em> been acting off,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Me?” scoffed Brian.</p>
<p>“Yes you,” said Roger, though he knew he was equally to blame. He knew that his own muddled up thoughts about the whole thing kept him at a distance as much as they did for Brian.</p>
<p>“Well, things shouldn’t be off, right?” said Brian. Roger looked up at him blankly, unsure how to answer. In the few days he’d had to mull it over, to consider what they’d done and if that was wrong, if it was crossing a line, he’d never come to a conclusion. His feelings towards the whole thing shifted by the hour. “I mean it was fun,” added Brian, “why complicate it past there?”</p>
<p>“Easy to say,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“But it was fun,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“It was,” said Roger with a quick laugh. “Really fun.” Roger reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it with a shaking hand.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t mind trying it again,” said Brian quickly. Roger coughed, sputtered around his cigarette in a way he hadn’t done since he was thirteen. Brian mumbled a quiet apology while Roger caught his breath, but Roger just waved his words away and worked hard to choke down air without coughing it back up. “Didn’t mean to...to scare you.”</p>
<p>“Not scared,” said Roger with a tense laugh. He took another drag off his cigarette, only coughing in a quiet, controlled way this time.</p>
<p>“Just forget I said that,” added Brian with an awkward, stuttering laugh.</p>
<p>“Sure,” said Roger, his eyes never daring to meet Brian’s, though he could feel his eyes boring into the side of his face. “It was fun though,” sighed Roger, trying to wrap his head around the way his cock twitched at the memory of that night, at the memory of the woman <em>and</em> Brian. “It was fun.”</p>
<p>“It was,” echoed Brian.</p>
<p>“Wonder if we’ll cross paths with her again,” said Roger a bit shyly. It was a feeble and uninspired attempt to communicate to Brian that maybe, on some drunken level, he wanted to go again too. But he was far from offering any real, concrete words of commitment to that idea.</p>
<p>“Do you want to?” said Brian, trying to break through that one degree of separation Roger put between himself and asking for what he wanted.</p>
<p>Roger wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a real answer, and shrugged in response. He was satisfied to leave it there, but the whiskey swirling in him added, “don’t think I’d say no if she came back.”</p>
<p>“You think?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roger took a long drag off his cigarette. “If we find her.”</p>
<p>They walked in relative silence from then, a little more sober, leaning into the traces of their drunkenness to excuse the way they walked too close, the way they stumbled, both over their feet and the few words their shared about meaningless things, both minds on one thing only and unable to leave it.</p>
<p>That fogged up, though somehow, crystal clear memory of their night with that woman. Each moment replayed in Roger’s mind. Through the hotel lobby, up the elevator, down the hall, and into his room, the memory chased him. He flopped on his bed and let it overtake him. Let the thoughts of the woman, and Brian, rush back. The feeling of her body against his, of Brian’s hands on his thighs, of how warm and tight she’d felt, how expertly Brian fucked her, fucked him. His hands dipped into his waistband. His mind recalled fondly how whiny the woman had been, how loud Brian had been, the way he groaned Roger’s name like they were the only two in that room, in that building, in the city.</p>
<p>Roger came across his hand and sighed in some odd combination of defeat and satisfaction before hurrying to rinse off. Rinse everything off. The thoughts, the whiskey, the conversation, the woman from the bar, he wanted it all down the drain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three shows left in New York. Three more chances at finding that woman. At somehow, in a city of six million, finding the one woman who could give them another shot at each other. There was an unspoken tension in it the next night, out at the bar. Brian stayed close, but didn’t chat, Roger didn’t stray but also wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Neither wanted to acknowledge outright what they were doing, who they were looking for and more importantly why they were looking for her. But they both were on the same page, in the same headspace of ignoring any unfamiliar face and focusing on their drinks when they finally decided she wouldn’t be found at the random bar they’d wandered into. She may never be found again.</p>
<p>The more Roger thought about it, the more he wasn’t sure it was a bad thing that they might never come across her again. The way they were so silently desperate for her return, made him wonder if this was opening a floodgate he’d never be able to close. Opening his world up to new needs, new desires he couldn’t understand, things that confused him but tortured him with their intensity. Might be best to let it die, let it end in one drunken night in a new city.</p>
<p>Brian played to him with extra flair the next night, sweating and grinning while Roger did the same back tenfold. It was easy to forget, on stage like that, how murky their life off stage had become. How they’d shared that woman and spent two nights fruitlessly searching for her to try it again. On stage, that didn’t matter, on stage there was no shyness no embarrassment no shame, just music and bared teeth in grins and growls.</p>
<p>But that lingering hesitation between them, the distance, the averted eyes and pinked up cheeks, all returned with each step closer to the dressing room.</p>
<p>“Do you think it’s different faces each night?” said Freddie as he peeled off the great big silken top he’d worn on stage and carefully hung it up on the rack. Brian did the same next to him while Roger sat at the vanity table by John. The intent of eyeing the way Freddie’s attempt at eyeliner on him had smudged, but his gaze got caught, stuck on watching Brian through the mirror as his fluffy, glittery top slowly crept up and over his head, exposing every muscle in his back, the sharp contours of his ribs, the slight definition in his biceps.</p>
<p>“What’re you doing?” said John with an awkward laugh and a low voice.</p>
<p>“Hm?” said Roger, breaking from his reverie and clearing his throat. “Lost in thought, why?” he added clumsily.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” said John with a face of morbid curiosity.</p>
<p>“No on is answering me!” grumbled Freddie. “I feel like playing the same city over and over we’re getting nowhere, it could be the same people each night.”</p>
<p>“What idiot would pay to see the same show five nights in a row,” laughed Brian.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Freddie sighed and made his way to the mirror, looking over Roger’s shoulder and eyeing his winged liner, “maybe I’m getting stir crazy here.”</p>
<p>“Probably,” said Brian somewhere behind them. Roger, eyeing the gaps between him and Freddie in the mirror, could see glimpses of Brian’s exposed leg, hip, a glint of his thigh as he changed trousers. Little teasing glimpses that he eventually shifted in his seat to cover their reflections while he wiped his eyelids clear of the remnants of eyeliner pencil. He shook the thoughts off with a sigh and stood, refocused on getting changed and lifting his sweat-dampened hair enough to go out.</p>
<p>Yes, it was definitely for the best they never found that woman again. If she was hypnotic enough to make him ogle Brian for a taste, a mere reminder of the night she’d given them, who knew what a repeat show would do to him.</p>
<p>“I’m hungry,” said John as Freddie wiped his eyeshadow off for him. “Can we eat before we go out? I’m withering away to nothing.”</p>
<p>“They’ve got snacks back here,” said Roger as he tugged on the clothes he’d worn into the venue.</p>
<p>“I need a vegetable,” said John sadly. Freddie’s hand squeezed his cheeks ever so slightly as he worked the eyeshadow off with a cottonwool pad.</p>
<p>“Get your vegetables in the daylight like the rest of us,” said Freddie. “Once the sun sets the only thing going in should be alcohol and smoke.”</p>
<p>“I hear it’s better for your digestion,” said Roger with a smirk.</p>
<p>“You can get room service,” offered Brian.</p>
<p>“That’s so cute that you think our hotel has room service,” laughed Freddie.</p>
<p>“I think you can order up coffee, or at least the powder to make it,” said Brian.</p>
<p>Roger grinned and added, “right, John’s hunger is the type only instant coffee grounds can cure,” as he zipped up his trousers.</p>
<p>“Coffee beans are good for you, aren’t they?” said John.</p>
<p>“Not the grounds,” scoffed Freddie, he turned to the mirror to reapply the eyeliner where it’d faded slightly.</p>
<p>“What’d’you mean not the grounds?” said John, his voice high and nasal. “What the fuck do you think you’re drinking when you drink coffee?”</p>
<p>“The—the<em> juice</em>,” said Freddie, disgust painted over his face. “You don’t eat the grounds for a snack afterwards.”</p>
<p>“Well—no but you <em>can</em>,” said John. “Brian just said so.”</p>
<p>“What—no, Brian did not just say so,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Rog,” Freddie turned around in his seat to face him, “you’re the biologist.”</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger laughed and laced up his shoe, “I don’t remember them covering the morality of eating old coffee grounds.”</p>
<p>“Well<em> think</em>,” urged John.</p>
<p>“I,” he sighed, “I suppose if it’s safe to drink it must be safe to eat.”</p>
<p>“Aha!” said John.</p>
<p>“Well—alright then, go to the hotel and <em>eat instant coffee</em>,” grumbled Freddie.</p>
<p>“Thank you, I will,” said John.</p>
<p>“Y’know there’s a difference between coffee grounds and instant coffee—” began Brian.</p>
<p>“Don’t get them going,” said Roger quickly.</p>
<p>“Is there really a difference—” began John.</p>
<p>“So where are we headed after this,” interrupted Roger, anything to get the conversation far, far away from coffee.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Freddie sighed, “there’s a club I’ve been hearing about,” he shrugged.</p>
<p>“Are we invited?” said Roger, eyeing him in the mirror. A subtle way of asking just exactly what<em> type</em> of place it was. If it was a bar like any other he’d answer with all the rave reviews he’d heard of it, and force them along.</p>
<p>But if it was some club with a more <em>specific</em> clientele he’d always answer, “don’t think it’s your speed.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” said Roger. There were times he’d been tempted to join Freddie at one of his <em>clubs</em>. Just to see how different it was really. Part of him assumed it’d be off the wall, something completely new, another part figured it’d be the same scene as a regular bar just with no women around. He found out exactly what they were like when he drunkenly invited himself to one of Freddie’s clubs in Japan and found that for the most part, it really was just a club with no women. No women and a lot more free drinks floated Roger’s way. “Well have fun.”</p>
<p>“I always do,” said Freddie with a wink.</p>
<p>“I was, er,” began Brian, still loitering by the clothes racks with Roger, “I was probably gonna head back to that club we found the first night,” he caught Roger’s eye through the mirror, “if anyone wants to join.”</p>
<p>“That place had the worst music,” grumbled John.</p>
<p>“What about you, Rog?” he turned to face him, Roger turned just enough to see Brian’s hopeful face looking back at him, their stage clothes hanging on the rack between them.</p>
<p>“Er,” he eked out. It was better if they didn’t try, better if they didn’t go searching for it again, better if they forgot this whole thing and let everything settle back into normalcy before it got worse. But what if they found her. What if she was a regular at the bar, what if she wandered in again and took them home again. The hope, the idea of another night with her, washed over, washed out, and dulled the sharp angles of what would come afterwards, after another night like that. “Yeah, that might be fun.”</p>
<p>“Well I guess<em> I’ll</em> be having dinner <em>alone</em>,” said John.</p>
<p>“If you come with me I bet you’ll get offered free dinner,” said Freddie, nudging him with his elbow.</p>
<p>“Does the third date rules still apply in clubs like those?”</p>
<p>“No, you’ll definitely have to put out but you might get lobster.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” John fluffed his hair, “might be worth a lobster.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They didn’t say much on their walk to the club. Roger couldn’t know how Brian felt, but with each face he met on his way into the club, up to the bar, he felt like everyone knew. Like each face that glanced his way knew exactly his and Brian’s intentions that night. Roger was meek when he ordered his whiskey, Brian was equally meek when he ordered some fruity apple drink off the menu that cost double Roger’s whiskey. But he didn’t have the energy to tease him for it. He didn’t have the energy to stand at one of the bar tables either and hurried to a booth knowing Brian would follow.</p>
<p>They sat, a little too close but also a little too far from each other in the halfmoon booth, looking out onto the dancefloor, trying to spot the woman in the dark red din of people and dancers. The music was loud enough that Roger didn’t feel the need to keep a conversation between the two of them, and thankfully Brian felt the same. When Roger finished his whiskey, Brian ordered them both another drink and slid Roger’s across the table for him.</p>
<p>“Thanks, I’ll get you next—” began Roger.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” said Brian quickly.</p>
<p>“Oh…kay,” added Roger, the sudden break in their prolonged silence sounded odd to both their ears.</p>
<p>“God, sorry, this was a stupid idea, of fucking course she’s not coming,” said Brian with a sad laugh. “I shouldn’t’ve dragged you out here.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t drag me,” said Roger, his eyes on the whiskey as he swirled it in his glass.</p>
<p>Brian said nothing. He sipped his drink in time with Roger and they both kept their eyes on the door, waiting for her to walk in as the hour got later and later and later and their chance of seeing her dwindled exponentially. Exponentially, but not totally.</p>
<p>Roger was set to admit defeat and leave once his third whiskey was gone. Before he had the chance to polish it off he saw a familiar face emerge from the door.</p>
<p>“Is that,” mumbled Brian as her features came into clearer view and made them sure it was her.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” breathed Roger. She was there.</p>
<p>And she saw them, and she waved and hurried over with a wide grin on her face. She leant across their table, kissed their cheeks hello, and slid into the booth by Roger, forcing him and Brian to close the awkward gap between the two of them to accommodate her.</p>
<p>“I was wondering if I might see you two again.” She pushed her hair back and took a sip off Roger’s whiskey. “So how have the other shows been.”</p>
<p>“Oh, er,” Roger turned back to Brian for an answer.</p>
<p>“Er, good,” said Brian. “Good…We, well we played them.”</p>
<p>The woman laughed and nodded, “yes I bet you did play them.”</p>
<p>“We did,” was all Roger could think to add.</p>
<p>“Alright,” she laughed again, “done anything else interesting since?”</p>
<p>“I don’t, er,” Roger turned to look at Brian again, who just shrugged, “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Really making the most of the city huh?” Roger laughed, awkward and a little too high, in response. Brian just mumbled a quiet ’sorry’. The woman’s face twisted up in confusion and she cocked her head. “What the hell’s wrong with you two?”</p>
<p>“Nothing’s wrong,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“No nothing,” added Brian.</p>
<p>“Then what’s all this?” She gestured over the table between the two of them.</p>
<p>“It’s er,” Roger sighed and leaned back on the vinyl of the booth, “thing is is we er…”</p>
<p>“We were wondering if you might like to go again,” said Brian, far too quickly.</p>
<p>“Eloquent,” groaned Roger.</p>
<p>“Better than you,” spat Brian.</p>
<p>“Go again?” Her head stayed cocked, her fingertips still held Roger’s drink.</p>
<p>“Y’know,” Roger choked out. “Another, y’know with us three, another one of the…y’know.”</p>
<p>She giggled. “Yes, I think I know.” She took the last of Roger’s whiskey in one long gulp and slammed the drink down again. “Finally committing to be being real rockers?”</p>
<p>“I suppose,” said Roger while Brian added, “if you you’re free,” overtop.</p>
<p>“If you’re free?” said Roger, looking back at Brian with nothing but distain for his acharismatic contribution.</p>
<p>“Don’t start bickering <em>now</em>, we’ve got the whole night ahead.” She shifted out of the booth, stood with a bounce, and tapped her nails against the table, urging them to follow. Roger looked to Brian, and Brian to Roger, before they scooted out to meet her. “Why don’t we head to one of your rooms tonight,” she said as she took their hands in hers, “I think you’ll be more comfortable there than at mine.”</p>
<p>“More comfortable?” Roger scoffed. “You planning another surprise?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “If I am, I think you’d both be more open to it in the safety of your hotel,” she laughed.</p>
<p>Roger looked past her, caught Brian’s eye. Brian looked back, that same steely, competitive gaze on his face. The same look he’d had their first night with her. Roger looked back with much the same expression. After their first night there wasn’t much Roger was afraid of, wasn’t much that could make him back down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They made a significant dent the minibar stock with the woman, though the little samples of alcohol didn’t do much for any of them. She turned the radio on, tuned it for some station she preferred over the one Brian had on in his room the last few nights. The hotel room was less cushy than her flat. Just a bathroom, a desk, and a bed. Roger flicked the curtains closed tight, as if the press might somehow needle a camera through the glass and between the drapes, and get a torrid photo sent back home to his poor unsuspecting mum. Brian seemed to be in a similar state of paranoia, Roger figured, judging by the way he kept eyeing the television in the room like there might be someone inside of it.</p>
<p>“Boys,” she giggled, tugging her top off over her head, “you’ve got to relax.” She moved about the room, flicking lamps off until just the one at Brian’s bedside was left.</p>
<p>She sat on the desk, kicked her shoes of playfully, and looked between them both, waiting for attention. Roger got to her first. Kissed her like he loved her and helped her peel her clothes off bit by bit while he listened to Brian fumble around the minibar for something stronger. She unbuttoned his shirt, threw it across the room once Roger got his arms free of the sleeves, and did the same to his belt. Unbuckling and ripping it free from his trousers in one quick motion.</p>
<p>With just her skirt left, she pushed Roger off, called Brian over. She popped a button or two on his shirt before she laid back across the desk and asked him to tug her skirt, her panties off for her. She hummed, let her legs spread and urged Brian between them. Roger watched the way his mouth trailed up her thighs before covering her clit, watch the way her breath hitched with him, the way her back arched off the desk. She called Roger’s name then, beckoned him over and fumbled hopelessly with button and zip of Roger’s trousers. He worked them open for her, let her hand dip into his waistband for his cock. Roger had to put a bend in his knees for her mouth to reach but the uncomfortable stance against the desk she was laid out on was worth the warm suction of her mouth.</p>
<p>It was easy to focus on just her like this. Just her and the way her head bobbed on his cock, the way her tongue worked him expertly and made him tremble for more. It was easy to think of only her. But he still found his eyes drifting lower, catching glimpses of Brian between her legs. His eyes shut soft and his tongue moving in heavy, even strokes that made Roger wonder, just for a moment, how that might feel on him. Just for a moment.</p>
<p>Her mouth left Roger as her face twisted up in more pleasure. She hummed Brian’s name and let her eyes flutter closed as a moan overtook her. Roger looked back, looked down to see what Brian was doing to make her feel so good. Roger saw his fingers buried deep in her, his tongue moving quick against her, and felt his cock twitch at the sight of it.</p>
<p>“You like it?” the woman whispered. “Like watching him?”</p>
<p>“I—like watching <em>you</em>,” he said through uneven breaths.</p>
<p>“You weren’t looking at me,” she sighed. Before he could rebut, could offer any explanation, she came. She screamed Brian’s name, and arched off the desk. Roger watched Brian’s mouth move with her, watched him rise and fall with her hips, wringing every last wave of pleasure out of her.</p>
<p>Brian stood up, ran a hand through his hair, his mouth glistening in the lamplight. She sat up, let her hand fall off Roger’s cock and reached out for Brian’s waistband, tugged him closer by it, and worked his belt off, her hands more shaky now. With his belt off and her hand stroking him slow, Roger made a move for the minibar. It was his turn to drown out the discomfort with a shot or two of whatever he could get his hands on. He downed a mini bottle of tequila and winced when he heard Brian moan with her hand on him.</p>
<p>“Not enjoying it?” the woman teased, peaking over Brian’s shoulder. Roger looked up at her, one hand still rifling through the bottles for something a little heavier than tequila.</p>
<p>“I’ll enjoy it more when it’s my turn,” he said before turning his attention back to his next drink which looked to be bourbon.</p>
<p>“I think, you both, ought to enjoy it more now,” she sighed.</p>
<p>Roger stood from the minibar and watch the woman slink off the desk and away from Brian, who whined when her hand left him. She padded across the room, to where they’d left the bottle of lube they bought on the way in, scooped up the shopping bag, and jumped up on the bed. She sat, her legs spread but not wide, and leant back against the few pillows and the cheap headboard.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” groaned Roger, ditching the bourbon and taking a step towards her.</p>
<p>“Ah,” she tutted, her eyes shifting between him and Brian. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>“Why?” said Brian. He sounded so desperate now that she’d stopped touching him.</p>
<p>“Because,” she coated two fingers in lube, let it roll down each knuckle, “I’m not particularly interested in mollycoddling you two through another one of these.” She kicked her feet back and forth, “I think while I’m getting ready over here, you two ought to get ready over there.”</p>
<p>“Fuck’s that mean?” laughed Roger. He palmed his cock lazily, sloppily, but stopped when a glance in Brian’s direction saw him doing the same.</p>
<p>“It means, I think I’ve earned the right to be a spectator for awhile,” she said with a grin and a laugh lacing her words. Her slick fingers slipped between her legs. “Give me something to look at and you can come join me on the bed.” She kept her eyes flitting between the two of them as she plunged a finger inside herself, letting out a hiss when she did.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” Roger groaned, his hand tighter on his cock, “what d’you want us to do?”</p>
<p>She slipped a second finger in and shrugged. “One of you could blow the other?”</p>
<p>“What?” Brian laughed.</p>
<p>“Be serious,” said Roger with a roll of his eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m being serious,” she hummed. “Put on a show for me.”</p>
<p>Brian looked to Roger, only for a split second before turning back to her, and muttering “no,” quietly, his tone entirely confused. “No, we don’t—we’re not like that.”</p>
<p>“We told you before, we don’t want to—” began Roger.</p>
<p>“It’s not about all that,” she sighed. “It’s about giving me something. You’d be doing it for me.” She looked at them so needy, so desperate, so ready to be taken by them. Desperate as if she hadn’t just asked of them the impossible as a prerequisite to her satisfaction.</p>
<p>“I, I—I mean—You wouldn’t even like it,” said Roger. “If we did, you wouldn’t like it.”</p>
<p>“Why’s that?”</p>
<p>“Because we wouldn’t like it,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” added Brian.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I’d be able to stay hard, much less make it all convincing enough for you—” began Roger.</p>
<p>“Wait,” interrupted Brian. He took a step toward Roger. “Why’re you assuming <em>I’d</em> be the one doing the sucking?”</p>
<p>“Is that what you want to argue about right now?” groaned Roger. He heard the woman giggle from her spot on the bed.</p>
<p>“Why is it you’re always assuming I’ll just bend to your will?” spat Brian.</p>
<p>“It’s not that involved,” said Roger through gritted teeth. Roger was trying to talk them out of having to blow each other and Brian was focused on the phrasing, on the fucking phrasing. Of course he was. “I’ve got a small mouth, it’s easier for you, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“That’s your reasoning?” Brian scoffed. “That my cock’s just too big for your mouth?”</p>
<p>“Hey! I never said your cock was too big,” said Roger with a frustrated laugh, “it definitely isn’t too big.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Brian grinned with a look of satisfaction, smugness even that made Roger want to smack it off. “You’re mouth is just so impossibly tiny, it has nothing to do with my cock being too big for it.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I meant—”</p>
<p>“If I had a small cock wouldn’t it fit? Doesn’t the nature of this assertion make that the <em>only</em> explanation?”</p>
<p>“It’s not that fucking big!” snapped Roger.</p>
<p>“Too big for you!” laughed Brian.</p>
<p>“No it’s not!”</p>
<p>“Oh—Prove it then!”</p>
<p>Roger held his breath, gritted his teeth, and wondered just how far he would go to win a fight. He answered himself when he sank to his knees in front of Brian.</p>
<p>“Oh—You’re actually—”</p>
<p>“What?” spat Roger, looking up at Brian’s panicked face. Brian said nothing, just stared down at Roger with wide eyes and red cheeks. Roger stared back and wrapped his hand around Brian’s cock, felt the intense heat against his palm and the weight of it against his finger tips. Foreign and intimidating, but he wouldn't let on. “And I’ll bet you stay hard,” Roger mumbled with all the fake confidence in the world.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to—” began Brian, any machismo or self satisfaction completely gone, replaced by embarrassment, anxiety maybe, eagerness too.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” said Roger overtop.</p>
<p>“Why?” Brian whispered.</p>
<p>“Just don’t watch me,” said Roger, a bit shier. He’d never found himself staring down the barrel of someone else’s cock and he wasn’t too eager to have an audience critiquing him. Brian shut his eyes tight but kept that same expression of bewilderment on his face.</p>
<p>“Mm, start slow,” the woman hummed from the bed.</p>
<p>“I know,” said Roger, as if he had any experience or expertise on the matter.</p>
<p>He leant forward and with a hesitant movement, he ran the flat of his tongue along Brian’s head. He tried to ignore the way Brian shivered when he did, tried to ignore that <em>sound</em> he made. And though he’d talked a big game, Brian’s cock was bigger than he cared to admit. He parted his lips, let his tongue run along his shaft, up one side down the other, getting used to the feeling of it against his cheek. Roger hadn’t even attempted letting him in his mouth yet and Brian was already leaking so desperately. Roger thought about teasing him for it as he ran his thumb across Brian’s head, through the sticky wetness, but he couldn’t bring himself to break his focus just for the sake of mocking Brian.</p>
<p>“Breathe through your nose,” offered the woman from the bed. Roger mumbled some sort of ‘okay’ in response and wrapped his lips around his head, let his tongue drag through the wetness already there, let his jaw loosen to accommodate more of Brian, to take him a little deeper, but not by much. “And use your hand.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian whined. Roger watched him throw his head back, watched him look over to the windows, as if someone might be there. He moved his hand, moved his tongue, moved his head a little faster, with a bit more rhythm. And when he looked up to check if Brian was liking it, he saw Brian looking back at him. His eyelids heavy and his gaze soft. Roger kept his eye on him, took him as deep as he could, watched the way Brian winced in pleasure as he held him deep in his mouth, in his throat.</p>
<p>He pulled off with a gag and stroked Brian while his eyes watered.</p>
<p>“Not too deep,” the woman hummed.</p>
<p>“I know,” grumbled Roger, his voice a little hoarse already. He wiped the tears from his watery eyes, and hurried to get back on Brian. Brian swore, whined louder than Roger’d ever heard him. Roger put a hand on his thigh, hoping to get a little leverage while he blew him, but Brian was so shaky, Roger felt he may as well have been holding him upright. He reached down, ran a hand through Roger’s hair, and sighed Roger’s name. He could never get used to his name sounding so vulnerable on Brian’s lips.</p>
<p>“Is it good?” the woman asked, her voice uneven.</p>
<p>“So good,” said Brian in a whisper.</p>
<p>“You almost there?” she asked. Roger looked up, curious as well, and felt his stomach drop when Brian nodded. But it wasn’t a feeling of dread, or even anxiety, it was need. Like he wanted Brian to come, like he wanted to be the one to do it. Like he wouldn’t mind swallowing it if the woman asked him to. He wondered then if maybe the extra bottle of bourbon had taken him too far. “Don’t come yet.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“I still want my fun with you two,” she giggled.</p>
<p>Roger pulled off Brian’s cock, let it rest against his cheek but kept his hand firm at the base, ready to go again if he needed to. “Should I stop?” he croaked.</p>
<p>“I think you better,” the woman laughed, “you just about had him.”</p>
<p>Roger took a deep breath in, relieved that he wouldn’t have to choke on Brian any longer, but disappointed in a way he didn’t care to think about. He stroked him one more, pulled back enough to press and wet kiss to Brian’s head and heard Brian hiss when he did.</p>
<p>“I told you,” said Roger, scrambling to stand up, “you stayed hard.”</p>
<p>“And you’re leaking, Rog,” teased the woman. “Looks like everybody won.”</p>
<p>“Had to think fo something to keep me going during all that,” said Roger with a nervous laugh as he wrapped his hand tight around his aching cock. He wasn’t sure who he convinced with that. Not the woman, not Brian, definitely not himself. Brian looked at him, his eyes still heavily lidded, his lips parted, like he might speak, but he never did. The woman looked at him, a devilish grin on her face and curled a finger, asking him to join her, finally. With one last glance in Brian’s direction, he jumped up on the bed with her.</p>
<p>“He and I can do all the work for you this time.” She kissed Roger deep, rolled on top of him and steadied herself with a hand on his chest as she sank down onto him. “Don’t get shy on us now,” she said looking over her shoulder at Brian. Roger moved his hips, a practically involuntary motion, as he waited for Brian to situate himself behind the woman. She squeaked each time he got deep and sighed his name when he reached between them and let his fingertips circle her clit when she had to hold still for Brian.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna love this,” she whispered as she leant down over Roger. “When it first goes in, it’s like nothing else.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Roger whispered, a little more excited than he thought he’d be. She nodded, kissed his jaw, and moaned in Roger’s ear when Brian sank into her.</p>
<p>Roger clutched the sheets, clutched the woman’s waist when he felt that hypnotic slide of Brian’s cock almost against his. He closed his eyes, bucked his hips up into the woman, felt Brian do the same. There was something euphoric in the way they moved together. Something about the woman, about the heat they all three shared, the moans that mixed, it all enveloped Roger so wholly, felt so good, he never wanted to come, never wanted it to end.</p>
<p>Brian sped up, fucked into the woman harder, deeper too. Roger moved in shorter strokes and let Brian’s movements do most of the work for him. He choked on a moan, reached a hand up for the hand Brian had planted on the woman’s hip, and held Brian’s wrist. “Harder—do it harder.”</p>
<p>“Harder?” Brian mumbled, a bit out of breath. Roger looked up at him, nodded helplessly, and bucked his hips up begging for more. Brian gave it to him, faster and deeper than before. Roger clenched his jaw and bit back a few of his moans before it got too much, before he let them out with no regard for how thin the walls were. “Fuck, Rog,” Brian moaned. “Rog.”</p>
<p>“Bri,” Roger breathed, unsure if it was loud enough for anyone but him to hear.</p>
<p>Roger came first with a frantic convulsion under the two of them soothed only by the woman’s light kisses and gentle touches as Brian finished off in her with one last tug on her hips.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” groaned Brian. He pulled out, fell in the empty space next to Roger. The woman sighed and fell on the opposite side of Roger. The bed just barely big enough for all three of them.</p>
<p>Roger kept his gaze on the ceiling as he caught his breath. Felt his eyelids get heavy with the lingering amounts of bourbon and exhaustion. He could fall asleep if he wanted. Right there between Brian and the woman, in Brian’s hotel room.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna shower off.” The woman eased off the bed, the cheap mattress squeaking with every move she made.</p>
<p>“We’ll be here,” said Roger, his eyes mostly closed by then. He watched, waited for the bathroom door to shut completely before he closed his eyes and leant into the tiredness overtaking him.</p>
<p>“Did she come?” said Brian. Roger cracked his eyes open, looked over at Brian. He looked just about as tired, his eyes barely open, matching Roger, his brow furrowed, matching Roger.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“I could feel it last time…didn’t feel it this time,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“She must’ve,” said Roger. “She must’ve,” he let his eyes slipped closed.</p>
<p>“I’ll check when she gets out,” said Brian, his words turning into a yawn. “Just gonna rest my eyes.”</p>
<p>“Me too,” mumbled Roger. “Just resting my eyes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roger nestled in closer to the warmth next to him. Pressed his cheek against the exposed skin of a shoulder, and leaned into the touch, the feeling of fingertips lightly dragging up and down his back in sleepy, uneven strokes. He hummed, inched closer, and spread his hand across a chest. A very flat chest. His hand moved up, searching for collarbones, and back down searching for breasts, and found nothing at all except bony ribs.</p>
<p>And when he opened his eyes, it wasn’t brassy blond hair tickling his nose but dark curls. Roger sighed, wondered if he might just slip his eyes closed again, might let Brian keep rubbing his back for awhile and deal with everything else later. But Brian took a big breath in and the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Roger reached out and stretched along with his legs that Roger hadn’t noticed were tangled with his own. Roger closed his eyes, hoping to fake a few more seconds of sleep and warmth. He held still when Brian took a sharp breath in and twitched under Roger, and froze for a moment before inching closer, brushing the hair back from his forehead, and whispering, “Roger, wake up.”</p>
<p>Roger didn’t have to really fake being woken up, considering how close to the edge of sleep he’d been. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he saw Brian staring back at him, his expression blank and his his face a little swollen from sleep. Roger waited a beat, maybe two, before he sat up and tried to scrub the sleep from his eyes. The covers were tangled around their legs. Rather than getting under the sheets they’d pulled them out from the sides, wrapped themselves up in them sometime in the night, sometime Roger couldn’t remember.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Roger groaned. Brian sat up next to him and rubbed his face tiredly. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Brian leaned over for the alarm clock. “It’s almost eight.”</p>
<p>“Eight?” Roger laughed. “In the morning? Why’re we awake?”</p>
<p>Brian laughed with him and shrugged. “Maybe she left and the door woke us up?”</p>
<p>Roger looked down at the empty space in the bed next to him. “Maybe.” He stretched. “Did she even stay over though?”</p>
<p>“I thought so,” Brian said quietly. “I don’t know actually, I fell asleep too quick. Didn’t see her get out of the shower.”</p>
<p>“Me too.”</p>
<p>Brian nodded. Roger looked over at him, looked at the way he wrung his his hands, and caught his eye. “You sucked my cock, you know.”</p>
<p>“I do know,” said Roger with an awkward smile. “I guess,” he shrugged, “it’s part of being a rocker?”</p>
<p>“You think?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“She seems to think so,” said Roger. Brian pressed his lips tightly together and nodded absently. Silence filled the room in an instant. Roger didn’t know how to break it. Didn’t know what to say after a night like that. But eventually he came up with, “I guess I ought to go back to my room.”</p>
<p>“Suppose so,” said Brian, entirely monotone.</p>
<p>Roger slid of the bed and meandered around the room, collecting and slipping on the bits of his outfit from the night before he’d left strewn across the floor. He grinned at Brian when he found his wallet, mumbled something about how she hadn’t bolted with their stuff. A worry Brian hadn’t seemed to have before Roger proved it false. He pulled his boots on last and laced them up quick, not tying them just stuffing the laces into the leather. He said nothing else before he slipped out of Brian’s room and into the strangely desolate hall.</p>
<p>The shower didn’t offer him any clarity, his reflection was unrecognisable, and when he slipped under the covers of his tightly made bed it wasn’t comfortable, or welcoming, or restful in anyway. There was no warmth radiating off Brian to keep him company. But no guilt either, no sense that he shouldn’t be sleeping in his own bed, that he had to hide the fact that he was. Maybe that peace of mind was worth lying awake on the unforgiving mattress for an extra few hours before their manager woke them for the sound check.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe one more night together would fix it, would fix the odd tension between them that only ebbed away to crash over them full force once again. Maybe going to that club once more time would bring them back to some kind of normalcy, to some state of being able to laugh it off, to remember it only in a good light. And they might’ve had that night had Brian not collapsed after their show minutes after they got off stage.</p>
<p>The doctors said it was hepatitis, probably given from his jabs before they flew over. The doctors also said it was fucking expensive to treat there. So Freddie covered up Brian’s jaundice with a bit of his foundation and they dragged him onto the plane hoping no one would stop them before they got in the air.</p>
<p>Freddie sat by him, shoved him into a window seat and covered him with a blanket, gave him the pills their manager had to knock him out and put an empty airline bottle of vodka on his tray, hoping to convince anyone who walked by that he was dead drunk. If anyone could distract from the yellow puddle Brian had become it was Freddie. Roger and John sat from them. John staring out the window blankly while Roger stared across the aisle with sweaty palms.</p>
<p>Brian looked like hell, he looked worse than hell, he looked ready to be buried if they let him stew for another thirty odd minutes. And Roger had sucked his cock two days before. His worry was mostly for Brian’s wellbeing, but once the doctors said he’d probably manage once he got back to London, Roger couldn’t help wonder if he’d turn up with it next.</p>
<p>“You think he’ll be alright?” said John, peeked around Roger to get a look at Brian, essentially being puppeteered by Freddie when a stewardess came by.</p>
<p>“People don’t die of hepatitis,” said Roger. “Last I checked it was fairly easy to get under control, so long as you didn’t let it go to long.”</p>
<p>“What did you study hepatitis or something?” laughed John.</p>
<p>“You really surprised I learned about diseases with my degree?” said Roger with a hollow laugh, his focus still on Brian more than the conversation.</p>
<p>“He’s not gonna pass it to Freddie?” said John, eyeing the way Freddie held up Brian’s cup of water for him to drink.</p>
<p>“No, it’s needles, sex, bodily fluids,” said Roger. “He can’t cough it onto Fred.”</p>
<p>“Huh,” said John.</p>
<p>“What ‘huh’?” said Roger, eyes focused on the glimpse of a yellow hand peeking out from Brian’s blanket.</p>
<p>“Brian told Freddie this morning that the doctor said it was easy to pass around, said you in particular probably had it since you saw the most of each other on the tour,” said John.</p>
<p>“Did he say that?” said Roger, clutching his arm rest till his knuckles went white and laughing as he turned to shyly face John. “Maybe I’ve got my facts wrong on hepatitis, must be er, thinking of some different ‘H’ disease.”</p>
<p>“Must be,” said John, eyeing Roger in a way that left him feeling entirely expose. In a way that made him keep conversation for the rest of the flight to a minimum.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again! It's been awhile, terribly sorry &lt;333 Hopefully the 9.5k wordcount makes up for it? Though sorry if you prefer shorter chapters b/c this aint it haha! Please comment if you enjoy it &lt;33</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>“I still don’t think much of the lyrics,” said Brian into his guitar mic.</p>
<p>Roger leant across the sound engineer for the mic button. “You don’t have to think much of the lyrics, just play the fucking guitar.”</p>
<p>Brian smirked and rolled his eyes before signaling for the backtrack of Roger’s new song to be rewound and played once more.</p>
<p>“I could’ve recorded it myself,” muttered Roger. After all he’d recorded the demo version of the solo, Brian only made a few tweaks to that.</p>
<p>“We need that guitar sound,” said Freddie on the couch against the wall, lazing, not particularly interested in Roger’s song either. No one but Roger was and he didn’t mind it that way. He got it on the album, he got it as the b-side, he couldn’t give less of a toss if the others were invested in it’s production.</p>
<p>“I could’ve just played his guitar,” offered Roger.</p>
<p>“As if he’d let you touch it,” mumbled Freddie, more interested in his magazine than the conversation. “And your guitar is still the rhythm in there so stop whining.”</p>
<p>“I’m not whining,” said Roger. Brian missed a note and fumbled out until he signaled for another rewind. Roger shot him a thumbs up as the engineer set it all up. No matter how closely Roger watched him he could never be certain how he did everything he did. In their more naive youth he’d been certain sound engineer was a middleman-ish position that he could master overnight, in his more wise youth he knew it’d be much longer before he could even remember which switch was rewind and which was re-record.</p>
<p>Brian counted off with three bounces before starting on one and keeping on beat. He made the oddest faces when he played. The fans, the tabloids called them sexy, Roger couldn’t quite see it. He didn’t look to be in any throes or oozing any dominant energy, he just looked enraptured by the music. He watched his fingers work the neck of guitar with perfect dexterity. Something none of them were sure he’d ever get back.</p>
<p>He was in and out of the studio for Sheer Heart Attack, healing and recovering and absent mostly after his arm was nearly a thing of the past. Roger still got horrible chills up his spine thinking of their time visiting Brian, how ill he’d looked, how panicked he’d been that he’d be in the bed next to him in a matter of days. He vividly recalled trying to figure which limb would be easiest to lose while still continuing drumming, he hadn’t ever come up with an answer. Once Brian was on the mend he stopped worrying too bad about it. Roger mentioned it to him on a visit to his hospital room. He was always a bit awkward around the sick and in the midst of a rather boring card game he mentioned how he’d been weighing the pros and cons of an amputation of his own. Brian, still a bit yellow, apologised for making him worry over it. Roger shrugged it off, said he was glad to be well. They didn’t talk much of it past then.</p>
<p>Not out of avoidance or discomfort, with the circumstances of his illness, the specific reasons Roger feared it might pass to him. It wasn’t a sore spot but it wasn’t something that easily fit in conversation. Roger had been prepared for awkward tension between them for awhile, the way it’d settled in in New York. But after Brian’s hospital stay, he rejoined the studio with no turbulence.</p>
<p>It was as if New York was just another world. Another world where things like that could happen. Another world that didn’t have to worry them or bother them, not in England.</p>
<p>“How’s that?” said Brian in the mic.</p>
<p>“Sounds<em> just</em> like mine,” snipped Roger.</p>
<p>“Please don’t start,” sighed Freddie.</p>
<p>“When you go solo, Rog, you can do <em>all</em> your own guitar work,” teased Brian.</p>
<p>“I’m the only one here that can do<em> all</em> my own work,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“You don’t play bass,” said Brian with a scoff.</p>
<p>“I play guitar, that’s close enough,” shrugged Roger.</p>
<p>“Don’t let John hear you.”</p>
<p>“He can’t hear <em>anything!”</em> spat Freddie, loud enough to bleed into the mixing board’s mic. “Him and that baby of his!”</p>
<p>Brian laughed and shed his guitar, his headphones too, on his way to the mixing booth. Roger spun in his chair, caught a glimpse of Freddie trying not to laugh behind his magazine.</p>
<p>“Are you jealous of John’s baby?” said Brian, swinging the door open.</p>
<p>“Terribly,” laughed Freddie. “But—genuinely, if I hear that sickening baby voice of his on the phone one more time I might actually have a fit.”</p>
<p>“God—” laughed Roger, “hearing him talk like that makes me wish we did just postpone the album until Robert’s eighteenth birthday.”</p>
<p>“He won’t be using that baby voice ’til he’s eighteen,” sniggered Brian. “At least I hope he won’t.”</p>
<p>“Knowing him and Veronica, by next album he’ll have another baby,” Freddie rubbed his temple, “we’ll never see the end of that baby voice.”</p>
<p>“Is that what your cowboy song’s really about?” Roger crossed his arms over his chest. “You killing John for talking like a tit on the phone with his baby?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Freddie with a grin. “I mean honestly,” he laughed, “can the baby even hear him?”</p>
<p>“I’m convinced Veronica’s recording that embarrassing shit he says for blackmail,” said Roger.</p>
<p>The door swung open again, smacking Brian in the back and sending him stumbling forward.</p>
<p>“Oh—sorry,” said John. Brian waved the apology off. “What did I miss?”</p>
<p>“We’re all chatting about how horrible that baby voice you do is,” said Freddie from his spot on the couch.</p>
<p>“Since when is it horrible?” laughed John.</p>
<p>“Since his birth,” groaned Roger.</p>
<p>“You’re all just jealous that I’m a proper adult,” said John with a fake air of superiority and his nose in the air.</p>
<p>“The day I become a proper adult, get me between the eyes,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“Is that what your cowboy song’s about?” said Brian. “Growing up?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Freddie with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Two weeks now and every guess anyone offered for the meaning behind his strange concoction was met with a flat ‘yes’ and a refusal to elaborate.</p>
<p>“You’re really racking up the sheer amount of topics in that song, you know that?” teased Roger.</p>
<p>“What can I say, darling, I’m an artiste,” said Freddie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were few forms of entertainment at the farm. There was the swimming pool, the tennis court, the pool table, and the few farm animals. Tennis got old their first week, Roger’d never taken to swimming, and he’d really never taken to sitting outside and petting the livestock over the fence the way Brian would sometimes wander out and do. But he still enjoyed the pool, even though he had everyone on staff beat by a mile. His only real competition was John.</p>
<p>“One more round and I’ve got to call home,” said John. He broke and sank two solids in. Roger winced at the way they sank in, so easy so effortless, and yet when his turn would roll around there seemed to be a magnetic field forcing the balls away from the pockets.</p>
<p>“You’re cheating,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Cheating?” John laughed. “How would I do that?”</p>
<p>“I’m a good player until you join,” said Roger through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>“Sure you are,” said John, lining up his next shot.</p>
<p>“And why’re you always calling that damn baby,” said Roger with a smirk, “he can’t even hold the phone.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want him to forget my voice, Veronica either for that matter.” He sank another ball.</p>
<p>“Don’t want her running off and doing what you do?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” said John, only half joking. Roger rested on his pool cue and glared at the way John so effortlessly made shot after shot after shot, and he may have gone on uninterrupted, sinking every ball, had the door not sprung open and fumbled his shot. “Fuck!”</p>
<p>“Fuck what?” said Brian in the doorway.</p>
<p>“You’re just angry I’m finally getting my fair go of it,” said Roger, hurrying to line up his cue.</p>
<p>“Don’t you fucking knock?!” said John.</p>
<p>“Knock on the door to the converted barn with a pool table? No, generally, I don’t,” said Brian. “I came in here to tell you there’s a baby on the phone for you but I might just run back in there and hang up if you’re intent on being a prick.”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” laughed John. He rested his pool cue against the table. “Thanks for the message.”</p>
<p>“Wait, hold on,” Roger straightened up, “we’re in the middle of a game.”</p>
<p>“Brian can sub in for me,” said John.</p>
<p>“Not Brian,” whined Roger.</p>
<p>“Hey,” said Brian, “I’m pretty good.”</p>
<p>“No you’re not,” sighed Roger. John left without another word. “I beat you in two turns yesterday.”</p>
<p>“That’s only because,” Brian took John’s cue, spun it between his hands like he was starting a fire and nearly dropped it in the process, “I wasn’t warmed up.”</p>
<p>“Right,” said Roger, shaking his head. He leant across the table to line his shot up. He pulled back and—</p>
<p>“Roger!” screamed Brian.</p>
<p>Roger yelped back as his cue missed the mark and sent the cueball no more than a few inches. “What?!”</p>
<p>“Nothing. But now it’s <em>my</em> turn,” said Brian. He tapped his temple. “It’s called strategy, Rog.”</p>
<p>“In an official game that’s cheating—sabotage even,” said Roger. He stood back up, rested his weight on one leg and his cue while Brian leant across the opposite side of the table, aiming the cue ball at an impossible and frankly bad shot.</p>
<p>“I don’t see any referee,” said Brian. He aimed his cue, knocked the cueball clear across the felt, hit nothing, and took a cocky step away from the table like he’d just won the game. “You may just want to forfeit now, salvage your dignity.”</p>
<p>Roger nearly missed his next shot with Brian in his field of view shaking his head remorsefully as if Roger were about to throw the whole game. With John having got Brian so far in the lead, Roger was technically behind and eager not to lose by default to Brian who was holding his cue like a spear. A few turns more, a few sabotaged turns more, a few pity turns thrown Brian’s way and Roger was back even with Brian and cleared to end the game. Brian’s attempts at shocking Roger into missing his shots nearly worked but in the end Roger sank the eight and hollered in victory when he did.</p>
<p>“It’s called,” he put a finger to his temple, “strategy, Bri.”</p>
<p>“I went easy on you,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Oh I could tell,” said Roger as he slid the cue in it’s shelf on the back wall. “Thanks for showing mercy.”</p>
<p>“But really,” laughed Brian, “what was I doing wrong?”</p>
<p>“It’s far beyond one thing,” Roger laughed. “You hold it wrong, you aim like shit, and every shot is your maximum power or none at all.”</p>
<p>“Well that’s how the pros do it,” said Brian with a grin. He hurried to the shelf by Roger, reached up to lock his cue into place against the wall.</p>
<p>Brian, so unversed in the ways of a pool hall, struggled to get the cue steady and secured into the mount on the wall. Roger watched, no intention of telling him or showing him how, happy to watch him fumble around for awhile as the cue slipped to the floor over and over. He stared up at him, grinning, waiting for him to get it in, and when he finally did he turned to Roger with a wide grin and real excitement on his face.</p>
<p>“Well done, you’re ready for the big leagues,” said Roger clapping his shoulder. Brian laughed, took a halfstep towards Roger when he did. Roger leant further into the wall, putting as much space between them as he could, and when Brian stayed still, stayed too close, he almost took a step over, took a step away to give them the room to breathe Brian seemed to be so unaware of. But something caught his attention. “What’s that smell?”</p>
<p>“What smell?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Is it…” Roger reached out for a handful of his curls, got on his toes to bury his face in them, “is this your cologne?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Brian laughed awkwardly and pulled his hair gently from Roger’s grasp. “I don’t know. Is it bad?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s really, really good,” said Roger. “It’s familiar.” Roger cocked his head. Breathing in the faint scent and wondering why it made his stomach turn in the best way possible. “Is it new—what’s the brand?”</p>
<p>“It’s not new—it’s old actually, it’s this stuff I used to buy all the time. Chrissie prefers the one I normally wear but—” began Brian.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” interrupted Roger. “What’s the name of it?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Brian looked up, pensive, “don’t remember, I know it by look mostly. The box is small and dark blue with an orange bird on the front.”</p>
<p>Roger cocked his head. “No clue what that is.”</p>
<p>“Maybe it just smells really similar to something?” Brian offered.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Roger leant forward again, reached up for the crook of Brian’s neck and took in a deep breath of the cologne. So familiar but nothing like something he’d buy, nothing he could’ve used in his past. “It really good, that. Reminds me of something good too, but…”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” said Brian a little awkwardly as Roger studied him, trying to remember when he’d smelled it before, why the memory of it made his stomach drop.</p>
<p>“Did you have this in New York?” said Roger under his breath.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Brian blushed, “I think so.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Roger cocked his head. He didn’t think back to that time often, but when he did he focused on the women, tried to laugh off everything else. Tried not to think about who else had been there. But one unconscious reminder of Brian on that night had his heart pounding. “Strange.”</p>
<p>“What’s strange?” said Brian, eyes wide and cheeks red.</p>
<p>“Nothing I just,” Roger cleared his throat, shook off the tingling in his hands, “didn’t—didn’t really notice your cologne at the time, funny how—how memories work, y’know…the things you don’t know you remember and all that.”</p>
<p>“That is…strange.” Brian wrung his hands, cracked his knuckles nervously.</p>
<p>“Well…<em>anyway</em>,” laughed Roger, hoping to break the silence that had barely begun to settle in, “er, it’s—why don’t we—lunch is on I bet.”</p>
<p>“Oh—I bet it is,” stammered Brian. Roger gave Brian a wide berth as he lead them out of the pool room, back into the house, back around others.</p>
<p>The crew for the album, the staff of the house, the owner, her daughter, all milling about in and out as people came and went with the lunch the owner had prepared for them all. There was a safety in that. A comfort in being around so many and knowing that they couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t even think about it, had to move on to some other, more accessible, less embarrassing and complicated topic of conversation.</p>
<p>But Brian still sat at his side to eat, his cologne more noticeable to Roger now that he’d got close. Even the traces left when Brian walked past, Roger noticed now. And it brought him back, so vividly to those two nights in New York. Those passionate puddles of the three of them. The way Brian gripped his thighs, the way Roger clawed up his arms, the way Brian sounded when he came, the way he whined, the way the heat radiated off him and against Roger.</p>
<p>“Rog!” called Freddie, slamming his plate down across the table from him. “I was <em>asking</em> if your voice was rested enough for more backing tracks. Didn’t mean to interrupt your daydreams.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t daydreaming,” said Roger, needlessly defensive.</p>
<p>“Okay,” said Freddie with pursed lips. “So can you do more back tracks or not?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger fumbled with his fork, “get me some tea and I think I’ll be clear.”</p>
<p>“You’re not getting sick are you?” Freddie reached across the table, put his hand on Roger’s forehead.</p>
<p>“Course not,” said Roger, letting Freddie keep his hand on his forehead until he was satisfied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“At this rate, we’ll be done in another two weeks,” grumbled John at the breakfast table. Quiet enough that Freddie didn’t hear him on his way over to the parlour. He preferred the piano in there, the acoustics somehow better in a dingy parlour than the professional studio out back.</p>
<p>“What’s two more weeks?”</p>
<p>“What d’you mean,” scoffed John. “Could be our whole livelihood gone.”</p>
<p>“No it couldn’t,” said Roger. “If we rush it and churn out some swill just to finish on time that will be our livelihood gone, not a week’s delay.”</p>
<p>“I hope,” sighed John. He picked at his eggs for a moment, no real intent of eating anything it seemed. “What do we even do?”</p>
<p>“What’d’you mean?” Roger reached across the table for the pot of sugar and dragged it over for his coffee.</p>
<p>“I mean my song’s done, you’re song’s done, I don’t know about you but I’ve got nothing else in the chamber. And Brian and Freddie are still in the conceptual stage of the shit they’re making,” said John. “We’ve got nothing to do.”</p>
<p>“You could always just <em>enjoy</em> the free time,” offered Roger.</p>
<p>“I dunno,” John sat back in is chair, “it’s hard to enjoy free time when there’s so much at stake.”</p>
<p>“You in for a round of pool—or tennis even, I’ll humour you with tennis today, I’m feeling particularly generous,” said Roger with a grin.</p>
<p>John eyed him for a moment, pensive, and nodded. “Let me call Ronnie back and I’ll meet you out there.”</p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake,” groaned Roger as John pushed his chair out and picked his plate up off the table, “you’re going to drive her to cheat with this incessant phone calling.”</p>
<p>“It’s hard having a newborn all alone,” said John with a pout.</p>
<p>“Not as hard as being around you while she has a newborn all alone,” laughed Roger.</p>
<p>“I won’t be long,” said John with a roll of his eyes. Roger sank in his chair and sipped the last of his coffee as John hurried out. With Freddie and Brian so preoccupied by their strange musings, his only entertainment was John really. And with the baby taking up so much of his time, Roger couldn’t help feel a lot like he had when his sister was born. Though it felt considerably more pathetic to be jealous of a baby when John wasn’t his own father, and when he was not three or four but twenty six.</p>
<p>He washed his dishes, put them on the drying rack, and figured he might bother Freddie until John was done. But he’d tried bothering Freddie days before in the middle of some balladic piano piece. Roger’d only said a few words and asked to sit in the armchair in the opposite corner. Even that seemed to get on Freddie’s last nerve. So Roger wandered out to the studio, hoping to bother Brian. If Brian ever got annoyed with him he wouldn’t show it, far too averse to conflict to be anything but polite.</p>
<p>The barn door stuck in the slight humidity and Roger burst in, stumbled over his own feet, when it finally gave way. At first glance he might’ve mistaken the room for empty, but Brian’s curls in the corner, his surprised face staring over at him caught his eye on his second scan of the room.</p>
<p>“What’re you doing?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Bored,” said Roger, he let the door swing shut. “What’re you doing?” Roger took a step or two inside and eyed the piano bench Brian sat on, eyed the harp between his legs, and cocked his head. “I hate to break this to you but you’re not actually playing a guitar right now.”</p>
<p>Brian laughed, absently plucked a harp string. “It’s for Freddie’s song, he thinks harp would fit better with the piano.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you played harp.” Roger picked his drum stool up and set it back down at Brian’s side. He ran his fingertips over the delicate inlays and carvings of the harp. He’d never seen one so close up. There’d been a harpist at his church as a child but the owner didn’t allow children near it, as if young Roger would’ve come up brandishing scissors and snipped all the strings.</p>
<p>“I don’t,” said Brian. “I didn’t. I can only really play this one song for Freddie.”</p>
<p>Roger turned to look up at him, to gauge if he was serious. “You <em>learned</em> harp? When did you have time to<em> learn</em> the fucking harp?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t learn it,” insisted Brian. “If you can play one song on a piano you’re not a pianist.”</p>
<p>“<em>Still</em>,” said Roger, reaching out to pluck a string at random. “I’m impressed.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” said Brian, one hand awkwardly carding through his curls. He always had such trouble accepting compliments without undercutting them. “You want to hear what I’ve got so far?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Roger backed off the harp, gave Brian the space he needed. “Have at it.”</p>
<p>“The intro is still a little rocky,” said Brian with a shy laugh.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ve never heard the intro so I’ll never be able to tell,” Roger nudged his side and smirked.</p>
<p>Brian grinned, repositioned his hands, plucked the strings to make sure he was in the right spot. And started in. The music was good, perfect even. It flowed like Brian had been playing his whole life. No stops or trips, he always knew exactly where his fingers were supposed to be and got them there on time. Roger had noticed before how long and lithe Brian’s fingers were, how soft but strong his hands were. It was a feature that became difficult to not to notice since he was a guitarist, since his fingers moving in perfect harmony with each other was part of his job. But something about the harp mesmerised him. So much more transparent and involved than the guitar. So much easier to see how quick and gentle his hands were. How quick and gentle they could be on Roger.</p>
<p>The idea invaded his mind, made him blush, made him panic trying to focus on the music. But no matter how hard he tried to guide his thoughts back to the melody and the harmony and sussing out if Brian had missed any notes, he stayed focused on the curve of Brian’s palm, the callouses on his fingertips, the dexterity in how he swung from string to string on each hand. It reminded him of how mesmerising he’d been when Roger watched his fingers work in that New York woman. How, back then too, he couldn’t help feel jealous of her, of the harp.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Roger shook his hands out, hoped the burning in his cheeks hadn’t become too obvious.</p>
<p>“What ah?” said Brian, fumbling the notes and stopping to look at Roger.</p>
<p>“It,” he cleared his throat, hoped to clear his head too, “it’s incredible.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Brian shrugged, “I missed a few notes—”</p>
<p>“It didn’t show,” said Roger quickly.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Brian grinned at him with a furrowed brow. “You’re all red.”</p>
<p>“Am I?” said Roger, reaching up for his cheek like the colour might rub off on his fingers. “Hot in here I guess.”</p>
<p>“It is,” said Brian. Roger clenched his jaw, tightened every muscle in his body, and breathed in a little deeper. The need he felt wasn’t the same as just wanting sex. He didn’t, he couldn’t want that from Brian. But he wanted him with a woman, wanted to feel him like he’d done before, wanted to fuck some woman hard enough to make Brian moan his name again. “You’re sure you’re alright?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger blinked, “I’m fine, I think the boredom’s getting to me.”</p>
<p>“How so?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Just, y’know,” he sighed, “thoughts are going all over the place.” He stood, picked his stool up. “Enjoy your harp.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Brian cocked his head, “I will.”</p>
<p>Roger set his stool down near his drumkit and hurried out. Fresh air would clear his head. Tennis with John would clear his head.</p>
<p>He’d had the odd passing idea that it might be fun to do it one more time, but those thoughts went as fast as they came normally. Never lingering long enough for Roger to really consider them, for his cheeks to blush, for his stomach to drop with need and anticipation.</p>
<p>It was the farm. Had to be. Seeing Brian every day, sleeping down the hall from him, and having nothing to pass his time with other than monotonous games of tennis, cards, and pool, it was all a perfect storm for Roger’s mind to grasp at anything to spice up the routine a bit. And that would’ve certainly done it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Freddie went to ‘bed’ hours ago. Roger had seen Paul go to ‘bed’ a few hours ago as well and though he knew any scarring noises would’ve long since ended, if they ever even began, he wasn’t keen on heading upstairs to his room just yet. Instead he stole a book of John’s, both to find something to do and to try and get John’s attention. But when John saw his book in Roger’s hand he just sighed and told him to return it when he was done. When Roger called an invitation to another round of pool, John said he’d take him up on it the next morning.</p>
<p>So he tried to read. Tried hard. Tried to get his mind focused on the words in front of him long enough for them to sink in. But every other word his mind was back to it’s more base elements, and no matter how much Roger adjusted in his seat, no matter how much wider he held the book open or how loud he read the words out to himself, he could focus on nothing but that. But those intense memories of Brian and the woman.</p>
<p>“What’re you doing?” said Brian. Roger jolted up, like he’d been caught doing something awful, and stared at Brian, in the back doorway, blankly for a moment.</p>
<p>“Er, reading,” he said finally. He held he book up in the air as proof that he was reading, not daydreaming or fantasising.</p>
<p>“Yes but—you were reading out loud,” laughed Brian. He meandered over to the couch by Roger’s chair, flopped down into it and sighed when he did. A deep tired sigh that if Roger closed his eyes could be mistaken for a pleasured one. “Is it good?”</p>
<p>“Huh?” said Roger, slackjawed.</p>
<p>“The book?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger tossed it on the coffee table, “it’s fine.” He cracked his knuckles. “How’s the harp been?”</p>
<p>“It’s getting better,” he shrugged. “Where’s everyone else?”</p>
<p>“Freddie went to bed at about six,” he said with a knowing look that Brian returned, “and John’s avoiding me I think. Bothered him too much today.”</p>
<p>“Why were you bothering him?” Brian laughed.</p>
<p>“Fuck all to do around here,” said Roger, a tense grin on his face.</p>
<p>“You didn’t come bother me,” said Brian. He looked away from Roger, focused on a loose thread in the couch’s armrest.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger crossed, then uncrossed his legs, “you were doing real work.”</p>
<p>“I could’ve used a break,” he added quietly.</p>
<p>“Well…” Roger’s voice trailed off and his gaze locked on the way Brian wrapped the loose thread around two fingers then let it slacken, then did it again, then let it slacken. And again, and again, and again.</p>
<p>“Y’know,” Brian adjusted in his seat, pulled the thread clear out of the couch, “I was wondering, thinking, maybe we might, er, y’know the town by here is, there’s that pub down the way, short drive, I thought, we could, y’know—”</p>
<p>“Go for a drink?” Roger laughed and cocked his head. “Brian, we’re friends, you don’t have to be nervous about asking to go for a pint.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Brian laughed, rubbed his face tiredly. “Only I was more wondering if…if we could find a girl there?” He looked back at Roger, cheeks pink and eyes unsure. Roger couldn’t imagine he looked much different. “If you’re up for it.”</p>
<p>“For…another one?” said Roger, one hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “You still think about that?”</p>
<p>“You don’t?” said Brian, recoiling a bit, going just a bit redder.</p>
<p>“Not really,” lied Roger.</p>
<p>“Oh.” He laughed, quiet and under his breath, gripped the arm of the sofa and shook his head in that subtle, overwhelmed way he often did when his guitar playing wasn’t up to his standards. “Nevermind,” he said with an awkward smile. “Forget I said anything—forget all that,” he stood, took a step away.</p>
<p>Roger’s breathing shallowed out and his palms got clammy as he gracelessly reached out for Brian’s sleeve and clumsily tumbled to his feet to avoid sliding clear out of his chair. “Wait,” he added. “I—I mean we’ve got nothing else to do.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Brian looked back with wide eyes that flicked down to Roger’s hand on his sleeve once or twice.</p>
<p>“Really,” Roger let go of his sleeve, “might as well,” he added. His words, his tone was casual, but it didn’t make up for how desperately he’d grabbed Brian’s sleeve and chased after him, even if that chase was only a step or two. “I’ll get the keys to that roadie van.”</p>
<p>“Oh…kay,” said Brian, seemingly in disbelief. And if Roger was honest, he couldn’t believe it either. It felt like a dream, like an elaborate joke they were pulling on each other. Laughing to break the silence while Roger nicked the keys of someone else’s van, looking over their shoulders as they pulled out of the drive, like if they were caught they’d be punished, like if they were caught everyone would know exactly where they’d gone to and why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The feeling was different, sitting in a country pub in a booth together, trying to eye a woman who looked up for it. Far different from New York where Roger had felt like a piece of meat for the men in the place and the woman they ended up with had been a reprieve from the freaks wandering around them, pretending they didn’t exist. It was a different animal to the fantasy land of a New York club that he couldn’t name, it was so much like home. Maybe too much like home. Too close to home to write it off as some foreign fun, some rock and roll story to laugh at later on.</p>
<p>Brian ordered them two pints and his hands shook when he set them down on the table. Roger paid it no mind, no use in addressing it it’d only make Brian more anxious, more offputting to whatever woman took an interest. Though it became apparent within ten minutes of tense, awkward sipping of their pints that it wouldn’t work how it did before. Women weren’t going to recognise them as the guitarist, the drummer from a band they’d just seen or heard. With that in mind, Roger took to the bar. It was no secret he was better with women than Brian and it’d be easier if he was the one breaking the ice.</p>
<p>He found some short brunette. Her looks weren’t much, but she was thin and dressed a little more modern than most of the country women in there. There was a higher chance of her knowing their faces, a higher chance of her living more like a city girl in every respect. She told him she was an artist, a photographer too. Roger offered up himself as her model for the night and took her hand, walked her back to their table.</p>
<p>Roger sat between Brian and the woman, an arm draped across her shoulders as she nestled in and made small talk with Brian. All about the band, the music they were working on. Brian extended some half-baked and insincere offer to tour the studio the next day. Roger kicked him under the table for that one.</p>
<p>“Where’s the rest of the band, don’t bands normally go out all together?” she said through a sip of Roger’s pint.</p>
<p>“Normally we do, we’ve just been seeing so much of each other lately,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Is that all? I’ve got such an image of bands in my head, I imagine them thick as thieves, I’d hate to hear about any warring,” she said with a grin.</p>
<p>“No, we’re about as close as any band could be.” Brian took the last swig of his pint.</p>
<p>“That’s good to hear, I think it makes for better music,” she said.</p>
<p>“Y’know in that vein, er,” he leant into the woman, lowered his voice just a bit and added, “we were wondering if, you’d, if…how’d you like us both?”</p>
<p>“I like you both fine?” said the woman, not quite catching on.</p>
<p>“I meant,” Roger stammered out a laugh, “I meant tonight. How’d you like us both?”</p>
<p>“You’re not serious?” she said in a whisper, like they were discussing something worth a tribunal.</p>
<p>“It’s good fun,” said Brian, a bit too virginal for the tone Roger was trying to cultivate.</p>
<p>“You’ve done this before?” she said, her cheeks going the slightest bit pink.</p>
<p>“Oh, tonnes,” said Roger, false confidence oozing out of him. “All us musicians get in to that sort.”</p>
<p>“Really…” she glanced between the two of them, lingering on each face for a moment, maybe two. She reached out for Roger’s pint, finished the last of it and said, “can you drive?”</p>
<p>Part of Roger hadn’t expected a yes, and part of him was terrified he’d got it. Terrified where the night might end but just as eager to find out, just as excited to go wherever it took him. “Er—yes—yes we can.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She left first, said she didn’t want to be seen leaving the pub with two men. Roger and Brian followed out a minute behind her and Roger couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised she hadn’t bolted before they could join her. As soon as Roger could get the doors unlocked and open, she jumped in the back, Brian went with her, and Roger jumped up front. She gave him directions and peered between the front seats every once in a while to make sure they were on track before climbing back in Brian’s lap.</p>
<p>She didn’t have the confidence that the other woman had, after all she didn’t seem very experienced in things like this. She wouldn’t be able to hold their hands through it and assure them they hadn’t done anything too strange, she wouldn’t whisper in their ear how impressed she was, how this was all part of being in music. But Roger couldn’t find it in himself to care about that. His mind too focused on the soft sighs escaping her and Brian while she kissed him, ground against him, rolled around in the back and gave Roger half-hearted directions. Until finally they got close, pulled into a bit of land with a farmhouse on the edge, and she stayed by Roger’s shoulder, guiding him into a spot under some lowhanging tree that she told him to park in.</p>
<p>Roger hopped out first and opened the door for the two of them. The farmhouse was big, winding even. Much like most of the farmhouses they’d seen on their drive into Ridge Farm. She told them to hush, said she lived in the refurbished old farmhands quarters, separate from the house but there was a chance of waking her father. Roger just grit his teeth and followed behind her as silent as the grave. It put him off how modest her life was, how far removed from the opulent shiny surfaces of New York she was. How much her little kitchenette and bedroom reminded him of his old flat, how much she reminded him that he wasn’t on tour, he wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high, he wasn’t in a strange land, he was in the country, going out of his way to get off with Brian.</p>
<p>So he didn’t bother with any pleasantries. She offered them tea, offered them whiskey but Roger turned them both down and didn’t hear Brian make any complaints to the contrary. She sat at the edge of her bed, anxiety and uncertainty clear on her face until Roger kissed her, laid her out flat and bracketed her thighs with his knees. She hummed under him, worked his belt open with uncoordinated hands and sighed when Roger ground down against her.</p>
<p>“How does it work?” she whispered against Roger’s lips.</p>
<p>“You’ll see,” Roger replied. He sat back, tugged his shirt off without fiddling with any of the buttons and from the corner of his eye saw Brian do the same.</p>
<p>He rolled off the bed, fought his trousers and boots off while Brian had his turn on her. Kissing her too sweetly, too gently for something like this, but working her blouse off just the same. She worked his trousers open, he ran his hand up her skirt. She groaned, fell back against the mattress and bucked up into him. Roger palmed his cock lazily, wondering what he was doing that was so good, wondering if he’d ever get a taste of it.</p>
<p>Brian fumbled with the zip on her skirt, left it unzipped and hanging off her hips when he looked over to Roger to take over. Brian circled to the edge of the bed, moved a little clumsily in his silent attempts to ask the woman to suck him. But she understood eventually and as Roger was tugging off her panties, her skirt too, her tongue circled Brian’s cock, made him hiss. Just how he’d hissed when Roger did the same, all that time ago.</p>
<p>Roger’s thumb circled her clit quickly, his fingers hooked in her briefly, and his cock sank in in one even motion. Her moaning was muffled around Brian’s cock, her legs snapped tight around Roger’s hips. Roger huffed at the feeling. It’d been weeks since they’d been home, weeks since he’d had Jo, and the tight heat of the woman who’s name he couldn’t remember was an intense relief, relaxation for tension he hadn’t been aware of holding. She rocked her hips, eager for Roger to move, he grabbed her waist tight, and moved in rhythm with her.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” panted Brian, his curls falling in his face, his eyes focused on where the woman and Roger connected. He groaned deep and reached over, his eyes never daring to meet Roger’s. He slipped his hand between them, circled her clit, made her buck up into him with each motion. “Fuck.” He groaned again, let his hand shift position, let the heel of his hand rock back and forth on her clit, let his fingers wrap loose around Roger’s cock as he moved.</p>
<p>“God,” whined Roger, turning away from him, focusing on the woman in his peripherals and the moonlight streaming in from the window. “Fuck,” he choked out, pushing deep in the woman, feeling as much of Brian’s fingers on his cock, the back of his hand pressed to his belly, as much of him as he could.</p>
<p>“Stop stop,” hummed Brian, “I’m close.” He pulled his hand off Roger, ran it through the woman’s hair as she pulled off his cock. He wiped her teary eyes and whispered some quiet praised for how well she’d taken him.</p>
<p>“Bri, get in,” said Roger, clawing at the woman’s hips, groaning deep and guttural.</p>
<p>“What’s that mean?” said the woman.</p>
<p>“Y’know,” Roger said with a smirk as he rolled into her deep and slow one more time.</p>
<p>“No I don’t,” she said, her words catching as Roger hit something good in her.</p>
<p>“Oh—don’t worry, he’s not gonna try and squeeze here,” said Roger, his fingertips on her clit, pressing down to punctuate his words.</p>
<p>“What—what,” she scooted up, away from Roger, propped up on her elbows and stared between them like they were insane. “I’m not taking two at once.”</p>
<p>“What?” said Roger, dizzy and desperate as he scooted up with her and moved in deep again. “What d’you mean?”</p>
<p>“Two at once not <em>two in one</em>,” said the woman with panicked eyes. “One at a time.”</p>
<p>“One at a time?” said Brian, his hand mindlessly stroking his aching cock. He turned to Roger, as if it were his job to confirm what she said. Roger just stared back.</p>
<p>“You can take turns, but you’re not going to try and rip me in two,” she giggled, though her laugh was laced with a bit of tension. Roger couldn’t tell if she was annoyed that they’d suggested it, or hadn’t been more obvious about it. Or if she was worried they’d try it anyway. Either way pressing the matter didn’t feel like it’d end anywhere fruitful.</p>
<p>“Turns,” said Roger with a snap of his hips that made the woman throw her head back, “I guess we can do turns.”</p>
<p>“Good.” She reached up for Brian’s cock, stroked him and urged Roger to keep moving, to keep fucking her. He gave Brian one last glance, a sort of apology almost. An attempt to communicate that he wanted more, that he figured Brian wanted more, and that more than anything he wanted a way around this, wanted a way to feel him like he’d done before. But for now he fucked the woman. Harder than he might’ve, as if thrusting like that might somehow simulate that intoxicating feeling of Brian thrusting right alongside him.</p>
<p>He got closer and whispered some muddle version of both their names when he leaned over the woman, gripped the sheets, gripped her shoulder and rutted into her. “I’m close,” he grunted, as if it weren’t obvious. His hand slipped, from the sheets, over to Brian. To his thigh, his hip, anywhere he could reach and claw as he came deep in her. The waves of pleasure overtaking him, making him seize and stutter while he wrung out everything he had in him. His eyes slipped closed while he caught his breath. And a hand carded through his hair, though he couldn’t be sure whose it was. And he wouldn’t open his eyes to check, just in case it wasn’t who he hoped.</p>
<p>He rolled off her, went limp next to her on her bed, kissed her shoulder and let Brian attend to her her needy whining. He watched, through half-lidded eyes as he spread her legs, kissed her thighs and ran his tongue against her clit, heavy and slow. She whimpered, reached over and tangled one hand in her sheets, left one clutching Roger’s wrist. Roger paid it no mind, his eyes locked on how Brian worked his tongue in her. He knew Brian could taste it, Roger’s come leaking out of her, and it only made him more eager to plunge his tongue in her as deep as he could.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Bri,” hummed Roger as Brian shoved two fingers into her only to pull them out quick and lap at the sticky white residue Roger left.</p>
<p>Brian looked up at him, his mouth preoccupied but his eyes speaking volumes in a language Roger didn’t understand. He stared back, his expression blank, and his cheeks probably red. His hand moved to his cock, still sensitive but dulled enough that it felt good to stroke himself in time with Brian’s tongue.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian muttered against her pussy, his eyes on the way Roger’s hand moved up and down his cock.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” sighed the woman, her voice jolted Roger. He nearly forgot she was there. “Fuck I’m gonna come.” Brian just hummed, let the vibrates resonate against her and reached a hand out for Roger’s knee. When she came, her legs snapped together in short stuttery motions around Brian’s head. He kept on, toying with her oversensitivity and moaning at the juices, half hers, half Roger’s that mixed on his tongue.</p>
<p>“God, Roger,” Brian moaned, his words muffled against her skin. Roger whined in return, his cock nearly ready for a second go round and ever fiber of his being desperately hoping there was some way, some fine print rule that would let Brian get him off without it crossing that dreaded line into Freddie’s territory.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?” The woman sat up, her eyes lingered at Brian’s grip on Roger’s leg. “Why’d you say…”</p>
<p>“Say what?” said Brian innocently. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.</p>
<p>The woman looked from him, to Roger, and back. Then muttered, “God” and hurried off her bed, hurried to the far wall. “Get out.”</p>
<p>“What—why?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“This is just—this is too strange.” Her hands shook as she draped a bathrobe over her shoulders and clumsily shoved her arms through the sleeves.</p>
<p>“It’s not,” Roger sat up, “it’s not strange, it’s—this is just how these things—”</p>
<p>“Just go!” she said a bit louder.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Brian stammered, “I don’t know what you think’s going on—”</p>
<p>“What I <em>think</em>,” she scoffed, “you were—you two were—just get out!”</p>
<p>“It’s just—it’s part of it—” began Brian.</p>
<p>“It’s not worth all that,” said Roger. He hurried off her bed, made moves to find his clothes. There was no point trying to explain it to the woman, she was too simple to understand it, too country. And Roger knew, with as much reassurance as he and Brian needed in New York, they’d never be able to convince her of what was or wasn’t normal, they themselves didn’t know, not really.</p>
<p>“It is worth all that!” spat Brian.</p>
<p>Roger tossed his shirt at him, no indication he was listening. He turned back to the woman, standing far away, eyeing them like they were creatures not men. “Get dressed.”</p>
<p>Brian opened his mouth to argue, but closed it soon after. And pulled his clothes on as quick as he could. Neither caring if anything was back to front just making sure they didn’t leave anything. She saw them out by holding the front door open slamming it behind them fast enough that Roger jumped to avoid getting hit.</p>
<p>“You have the keys?” said Brian, in a hushed tone, more worried now than ever of her backwoodsy farmer father coming out with a shot gun.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” said Roger, just as quiet. He unlocked the passenger door first and jimmied the driver’s side open next. He hopped up in the driver’s seat, closed the door, held his breath waiting for a light in the main farmhouse to go on, and exhaled when none did. He lolled his head over, caught a glimpse of Brian, fiddling with the callouses on his fingertips, a very old nervous tick that Roger was sure he’d broke him of. He didn’t have any great words of comfort, so he turned the engine over and circled out of the woman’s driveway, of her piece of land, and tried to remember which direction they’d come from.</p>
<p>“Turn left,” said Brian quietly, “we took a right into this place, turn left.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” said Roger, just as quiet. He turned the van, eased it onto the road. “You know, she doesn’t get it.”</p>
<p>“How’s that?” said Brian, not turning all the way towards him, but angling closer, if only by a few inches.</p>
<p>“She’s some—some country bumpkin,” said Roger with a laugh. “She’s probably never even heard of something like that ’til we asked for it, she was bound to misinterpret some…some elements.”</p>
<p>“I guess,” said Brian. He didn’t look over at Roger, but stop fiddling with his callouses.</p>
<p>“Remember, it’s just part of being a rocker,” said Roger, assuring himself just as much as Brian.</p>
<p>“I suppose it is.” Brian sighed deep and glanced at Roger for a brief, fleeting moment. Roger watched him shift his legs awkwardly, watched him readjust in his seat a few times and rub his temple with frustration.</p>
<p>It didn’t feel fair that he hadn’t got a chance to come. He’d given Roger the first go at her, made every sensation as good as it could’ve been for him, made a real show of eating the woman out, it didn’t feel fair that he should be so giving for the first half of their night only for it to be cut off entirely before he got any attention.</p>
<p>Roger drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and kept his eye out for a turn in. To any farm or field or forest. anything that would get them off the road. And eventually he found it. An unfenced field that he abruptly turned the van into. It sputtered over the uneven terrain but settled in the grass just as sharply as it’d left the road. Roger brought it to a quick stop and threw the gear shift in park.</p>
<p>“Are you trying to kill us?!” said Brian, catching his breath after screaming when Roger had driven them off the road.</p>
<p>“Don’t be so dramatic—”</p>
<p>“I’m not being dramatic! You ran us off the road!”</p>
<p>“Come on,” said Roger casually. He opened his door and hopped out of the van. He slammed he door, eyed Brian through the window until he did the same, then hurried around to the back. Brian sidled up to him and mumbled ‘what’re you doing’ a few times while Roger unlocked the back doors and swung them open. Only then did Roger answer, “get in.”</p>
<p>“Are you kidnapping me?” laughed Brian.</p>
<p>“Just get in,” grumbled Roger. He turned his back to Brian and hopped up into the interior and meandered to the front, sat behind the driver’s seat and rested his head on the fake leather. “You coming or not?”</p>
<p>“Depends,” said Brian as he put one knee up onto the floor of the van, “what’s gonna happen?”</p>
<p>“Nothing you won’t like,” said Roger. He sat up, held a hand out for Brian. Brian hesitated a moment, checked over his shoulder and saw what Roger had already seen. A great big empty field, lit only by the moon, populated only by trees and overgrown grass. He turned back to Roger, took his hand and fell into the van. He awkwardly laughed at his lack of grace and shimmied up to rest against the passenger’s seat. One door slammed closed in the slight wind, the other stayed open, let a soft glow of the moon give them a bit of light.</p>
<p>“So now what?” said Brian, his voice monotone and low, full of insecurity.</p>
<p>“Now it’s your turn.” Roger scooted closer to him, ran a hand up his thigh, across his clothed cock.</p>
<p>“From you?” said Brian with a shiver.</p>
<p>“I’ve sucked it,” laughed Roger, “this won’t bother me.” He put a little pressure in his strokes, hoping to give Brian a little relief through his thick trousers. “Just pretend the woman’s here. Nothing strange about it if she’s here.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” whispered Brian.</p>
<p>“Okay,” whispered Roger in return.</p>
<p>He reached down, fumbled with Brian’s fly and nearly ripped the button off trying to get them open. But once he had, Brian sighed, knowing what was coming. Roger hummed and freed his cock. Always so much bigger than he thought. He stared at his own hand, at Brian’s cock, really felt the weight and the familiar heat before he moved, up and down, slow and deliberate. Brian whined, buried his face in the crook of Roger’s neck, gave Roger a face full of his curls, each one scented with that cologne that drove him wild, that reminded him of that night.</p>
<p>He sped up, licked his palm, moved his wrist with a lot of finesse. Twisting and tightening enough to make Brian writhe next to him. He groaned his name, over and over, no need to hide it, not it the privacy of the van. In there, just the two of them, he could whine Roger’s name with each pump of Roger’s fist, with each buck of his hips.</p>
<p>“ ‘m Close,” sighed Brian against Roger’s neck.</p>
<p>“Come for me,” husked Roger. Brian stuttered out a moan pressed a wayward kiss to Roger’s collar and pulled off him, sat up enough to get a clear view of Roger stroking him. He choked out a moan, a strange whine, and looked at Roger. Roger looked back. Kept his hand moving as Brian eyed him, pleasure painted all over his face. Brian mumbled a quiet ‘almost’. Roger leant forward and added another ‘come for me’. Brian whimpered, leant forward, captured Roger’s lips in a sloppy, barely-there kiss. A quick brush of their tongues before Roger shoved him off, his hand on his cock faltering. “We shouldn’t do that,” said Roger, a little dazed.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—I—” said Brian, panting as Roger’s thumb teased his slit.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” said Roger, unsure if it was, “just be careful.”</p>
<p>Brian nodded and hissed when Roger sped up, eager to move on, eager to forget that kiss ever happened. He sped his hand up, moved his hand how he liked it on himself and watched Brian’s voice devolve from sweet whispers of Roger’s name to violent cries and pleas for more until he came. Roger stroked him through it, hummed in his ear as he did, hoping to wring a few more desperate moans of him. And he did. He stopped when Brian shivered and told him he was too sensitive for anymore. Roger sighed and rested against the back of the front seats, waiting for Brian to catch his breath.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian hissed, lifting his hips to tug his trousers back into place.</p>
<p>“Least I could do,” said Roger, patting his pockets for cigarettes. “You didn’t get any pussy.”</p>
<p>“Was it all that good?” said Brian, his eyes half lidded as he watched Roger light the cigarette between his lips.</p>
<p>“She was tight, I guess,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“She wasn’t much with her mouth,” Brian sighed, “you were better.”</p>
<p>Roger grinned, unsure if he liked that he liked that. Unsure why he was pleased to know he sucked off Brian better than that stranger. “I guess I have <em>the gift.”</em></p>
<p>“No, you’re just stubborn,” teased Brian.</p>
<p>They climbed back out, locked the back doors up and hopping in the front seats. It took a bit of coaxing but the van made it off the rough field terrain and onto the road. Roger could only barely remember where they were meant to be, Brian fed him directions until they found the pub they’d been at. By then Roger knew the route and could relax into the drive, into the warm breeze blowing in from the open windows. Brian made him roll it down with his cigarette still lit and normally Roger would’ve fought him on it but not tonight.</p>
<p>“What’s our story for why the gas gauge is lower?” said Brian when they saw the studio on the horizon.</p>
<p>“We don’t need a story,” scoffed Roger. “We never left, what’s the petrol in some stranger’s van got to do with us? We were sleeping peacefully all night.”</p>
<p>Brian rolled his eyes but Roger caught the smile he was trying to hide. “You know,” Brian said, facing his window, “you know, Chrissie’s been talking about some things.”</p>
<p>“What things?” Roger took another long drag off his cigarette and squinted into the distance, trying to remember when and where the turn in for Ridge Farm was.</p>
<p>“Getting more serious, she think it’s about time,” said Brian with a shrug.</p>
<p>Roger coughed out his smoke and eased the brakes on as he turned into the muddy driveway of their studio. “You live with her, what’s more serious than that?” Brian’s response was just to look over at him, wait for the logic of it to set in. Roger breathed a quiet ‘oh’ when it dawned on him and Brian smirked. “Is that…are you excited?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Brian started scratching at his callouses, “nights like these make me wonder if it’d be worth it.”</p>
<p>“You can still have fun when you’re married, different fun…or the same fun,” he added with a chuckle, not convincing either of them. “Besides, that’s what we’re meant to do. Get engaged and married and settle down…Y’know with Chrissie and Jo.”</p>
<p>“I suppose we are,” said Brian with a sad smile.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’re just getting cold feet,” said Roger with the same sad smile. “You won’t be so panicked once it happens.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” said Brian, with all the false hope in the world. He popped his door open. Roger did the same. They locked up and padded as silently as they could up to their rooms, fleeting glances as goodnights.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Imagine a world in which I uploaded this in a timely manner haha! This chapter is also a bit long a 8k so hopefully that makes up for the delay but thank you to everyone still reading &lt;333 Please comment if you enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p><em>“Lacquers!”</em> Freddie slammed his fist on the table, the Scrabble tiles shook in his wake<em> “Fuck you!”</em></p>
<p>“That’s the game!” laughed Brian.</p>
<p>“You cheated!”</p>
<p>“How!” said Brian through more sniggers.</p>
<p>Freddie studied the board carefully. “I don’t know how but I know you did.”</p>
<p>“Rog, tally up my points,” said Brian with the tone of wealthy taxman.</p>
<p>“I hope my maths are all right,” said Roger. “Would be such a shame if I made a mistake in my adding up and you lost the game.”</p>
<p>“Very mature,” said Brian, only half sure Roger wouldn’t actually cheat him out of his points.</p>
<p>A knock on the door had them all leaning back from their haphazard seats around the rolling table, all curious to see if the door would open itself.</p>
<p>“Fine,” John huffed, “I’ll get it.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, darling,” said Freddie lazily.</p>
<p>Roger kept his attention on John’s back as he opened up the door to the room. Hours now they’d been in Freddie’s hotel room. It was never boring to play Scrabble with the four of them, but there was a sense of missing out, on the city, on the women. They were used to the small amount of fame they’d been granted before, the looks they sometimes got, the sight of recognition dawning on someone’s face as they explained who they were, what music they played. But this was new.</p>
<p>Being on tour, getting mobbed the way they were, it was more foreign to them than they’d expected it to be. Roger knew musicians in his youth, followed them from tour to tour even, but even the few times he and Freddie showed up at bars, hotels the acts were meant to be at, they were practically alone in their endeavours. Half their rising star, half the world’s seemingly newfound obsession with musicians beyond their music, Roger figured. He’d gone to as many Bowie shows as his friends could stomach in his day, but he’d never thought to track down his hotel number. Unfortunately, their fans weren’t so likeminded.</p>
<p>Their second week on tour in their American leg, their tour manager asked if they might spend just one night in. It’d give their whole staff a much needed rest after beating off fans trying to break their way into limousines and stage doors, gave the fans outside time to accept that they wouldn’t make an appearance in the lobby. Didn’t seem right to be spending their first night in New York, their first appearance in the city with real fame behind them, in Freddie’s hotel room, working on their fourth round of Scrabble.</p>
<p>“Who was it?” said Freddie as he laid his tiles out.</p>
<p>“Room service,” said John, hurrying back to their rollaway table, and his seat on Freddie’s bed, with a bottle of vodka in hand.</p>
<p>“Finally,” groaned Roger. He fetched them glasses off Freddie’s minibar and slammed them down by John to fill.</p>
<p>“Do I have to drink it straight?” Freddie looked into his glass, swirled the few shots of vodka around with a sad look on his face.</p>
<p>“I’ll bet they have Coke somewhere,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Vodka and coke?” Roger cocked his head. “Is that good?”</p>
<p>Freddie shrugged and made his way to the minifridge. “Why should it be any worse than jack and coke?”</p>
<p>“Dunno,” said Roger, “just seems wrong.”</p>
<p>Freddie clanked the cans together trying to free just one, and huffed his way back to his spot by John. They sat side by side at the edge of his bed while Roger sat opposite in the only desk chair and Brian sat on the luggage stand.</p>
<p>“Alright, whose turn is it?” Freddie sighed.</p>
<p><em>“Mine!”</em> said Roger.</p>
<p>“As if it’s even worth going on, it’s a race for second place,” said John.</p>
<p>“Sore loser,” said Brian with a smirk.</p>
<p>“I just don’t understand how you’ve won all three games,” said John. “Honestly, is someone feeding him the best tiles or something?”</p>
<p>“As if any of us would help him cheat,” said Roger as he placed his tiles down carefully, trying not to disturb the board too much. The wheeled room service table it was perched on wasn’t exactly ideal for Scrabble. One errant kick to the many legs of the table and the whole labyrinth of tiles would shift.</p>
<p>“He cheats just fine all on his own,” said Freddie, “just ask Chrissie.” Brian sucked his teeth, not a hint of a smile on his face. “Only joking, darling.”</p>
<p>“Real funny,” said Brian flatly.</p>
<p>“Oi, speaking of which,” John shifted closer, leant more on the table, jostled it enough to earn a wince from Roger, “when’re you getting engaged?”</p>
<p>“Engaged?” said Roger, still focused on laying his tiles down and hoping no one would notice his alternate spelling of the word he was playing.</p>
<p>“Surely you’ve heard of it. Marriage?” teased Freddie.</p>
<p>Roger sat up a bit. Blinked at Freddie, John, then lingered on Brian. “Oh you’re getting engaged?” How had that not come up. Well, maybe he had. Back at the farm he said Chrissie was thinking they ought to but, in the moment it hadn’t felt real, that whole night hadn’t felt real, why should the conversation have stuck. “Didn’t know you were.”</p>
<p>“How could you not know?” said Freddie. “He’s always on about it.”</p>
<p>“Is he?” said Roger turning to Brian.</p>
<p>“Remember right before we left England he was telling us to ask around for jewelers,” laughed John, “as if Chrissie’s ever been one to care for the right <em>cut</em> of the right <em>diamond</em> in the right <em>band</em>.”</p>
<p>“I keep telling her,” Freddie took a big swig of his drink, “now that Brian’s getting real money she should be demanding better jewelry from him.”</p>
<p>“Huh,” said Roger, slack-jawed and a little numb. That was the best word for it. Not surprised necessarily, what else was Brian meant to do if not marry his partner. Not sad either, he knew that was how it’d end for them both. But something in him, some part of him, maybe, believed there was more time before that happened. “Don’t remember that.”</p>
<p>“Must not’ve been in the room,” Freddie shrugged.</p>
<p>“Don’t think he was,” added Brian meekly.</p>
<p>“Lucky sod,” said John. He grinned and took a sip of his vodka, tried to pretend it went down smooth.</p>
<p>“He’s still not answered,” said Freddie, gripping the edge of the table the moment he realised he hadn’t got the answer he wanted. “When’re you asking—or planning to anyway.”</p>
<p>“I, er,” said Brian. Roger sat back in his seat and mindlessly tallied up his points for his misspelled word, his mind both swimming and entirely empty. “After the tour—”</p>
<p>“We figured you weren’t going to phone her from a hotel in Los Angeles and tell the girl in your bed ‘please keep it down I’m proposing’,” scoffed John.</p>
<p>“Go easy,” laughed Freddie. Roger couldn’t tell if John’s commented agitated Brian, judging by Freddie’s words it had but Roger wasn’t looking at Brian. He was looking at the scoresheet. His scrawled numbers blended into one, his thoughts drifted faraway, no destination in mind.</p>
<p>“I’d like to be married before the next tour so,” shrugged Brian, “sometime after we’re home and we’ll get married soon after I hope.”</p>
<p>“So quick,” said Freddie. “How’ll you be able to plan a big soiree in that time frame?”</p>
<p>“Chrissie’s not one for big soirees,” said Brian with a shrug.</p>
<p>“So,” Roger cleared his throat, “by this time next year you’ll be married?”</p>
<p>“Not by this time,” said Brian. “It’ll probably be summer. But by next year, it’ll be over with.”</p>
<p>“Over with,” laughed Freddie, “how romantic!” He leant over, took John’s hand sweetly, and said, “darling, I simply can’t wait to get this wedding <em>over with</em>.”</p>
<p>John laughed the loudest, Brian mostly rolled his eyes. Roger couldn’t find it in him to react very much at all, to anything. He grinned at Freddie’s joke and took a lengthy swig of his vodka. It didn’t really matter, he figured. Chrissie hadn’t stopped anything they’d done before, he couldn’t imagine a little certificate from the courthouse would stop Brian from, well, enjoying their time. And beyond that, it wasn’t a standing appointment. They’d fallen into these scenarios by mistake practically. It wasn’t a nightly occurrence, or even a monthly occurrence. So what was there to be worried over, if that was even the emotion numbing him up.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean <em>over with</em> like that, I just meant done,” said Brian through a laugh.</p>
<p>“I should hope so,” Freddie scoffed, “I didn’t think it’d be asking so much to assume you’re excited to marry her.”</p>
<p>“It’s not!” said Brian, a bit too quickly. “I’m over the moon.”</p>
<p>“Wow,” John teased, using his most monotone voice, “I hope you’re writing your own vows, this is poetic. Over the moon to get your wedding <em>over with</em>.”</p>
<p>“Piss off,” said Brian. As his grin faded, his focus shifted down to his tiles.</p>
<p>“Only joking, we’re only joking,” said Freddie, eager as ever to mend the fences before they broke. “So the real question here is, drumroll please,” he drummed his hands on the table and rolled his tongue with a wink in Roger’s direction, “who’s the best man.”</p>
<p>“Oh not this,” Brian grinned, hiding any answer he might have to give in another glug of his vodka.</p>
<p>“This!” said Freddie. “I demand to know which one of us you prefer, which of us you would save first if we were all in a fire, and which of us is your best man.” Roger grinned a bit, it was easy for Freddie to get a small smile from him.</p>
<p>“I won’t choose—you’ll have to choose amongst yourselves,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Oh please,” John rolled his eyes, “it has to be Roger, who are we fooling here?”</p>
<p>“Why’d’you say that?” said Roger, his voice quieter than he remembered it being.</p>
<p>“Yes, why <em>do</em> you say that?” spat Freddie, only half joking.</p>
<p>“Because they’ve been friends the longest, they’ve been bandmates the longest, so out of the four of us it’s a no-brainer,” shrugged John. “You joined later on, I joined about fifteen minutes ago, we were never in the running.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that,” said Brian. “You’re all equal in my eyes.” He punctuated the thought with a theatrical hand over his heart.</p>
<p>“My feelings aren’t hurt,” John laughed, “it’s not as if you’re choosing which of us to shoot dead, we’re all good friends, some of us better friends.”</p>
<p>Freddie cocked his head. “So tell me John, who would’ve been your best man if that horrid little man hadn’t stolen my role?”</p>
<p>“Horrid little man?” laughed John with a wheeze.</p>
<p>“<em>Your</em> role?” said Roger, only half committing to the conversation, still a little dazed.</p>
<p>“Nigel’s not horrid,” said John. “I was in the Opposition earlier than I was with Queen, he earned his spot up there.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well,” Freddie sat up straight, “out of us three, who is your favourite? Say a man comes in here brandishing a gun, which of us do you ask him to spare?”</p>
<p>“All of you,” said John.</p>
<p>“But he <em>has</em> to shoot two of us,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“Don’t make him shoot two of us,” groaned Brian.</p>
<p>“I know who I’d save,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“What?” said the three of them in unison. Freddie just grinned back, one eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>“Do you really?” said Roger.</p>
<p>Freddie grinned, held the silence for a moment, then, “no I don’t, but I did enjoy seeing those panicked looks on your faces.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t panicked,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Did you think it was Roger too then?” teased John.</p>
<p>“I thought it’d be you,” said Roger, pointing limply to John.</p>
<p>“I thought it’d be me,” said Brian with a shrug.</p>
<p>“Boys, boys,” said Freddie, much too loud and dramatic for the current tone, “please stop fighting over me,” he rested the back of his hand on his forehead, a real damsel.</p>
<p>Roger rolled his eyes, reached across the table to shove him backwards onto his bed. Freddie went without a fight, trying to milk as much drama out of his pose as possible. Brian, at Roger’s side, laughed through a yawn, while John poked at Freddie’s exposed side, trying to get him to break character.</p>
<p>“Did you just yawn?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Am I not allowed to yawn?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Not at,” he turned his wrist, checked his watch, “one in the morning. We’re rockers, you can’t be off yawning at midnight.”</p>
<p>“It’s not midnight.” Brian yawned again. “It’s one in the morning by your own admission.”</p>
<p>“Is it past someone’s bedtime?” said Freddie, propping himself up on the bed, kicking his legs under the table in search of Brian’s knees.</p>
<p>“Truthfully,” said John with a stretch, “I’m not doing so well either.”</p>
<p>“Are we going to blame it on jetlag again?” Freddie sat up.</p>
<p>“Not jetlag,” said Brian, “but Scrabble doesn’t exactly keep your energy up the way that seedy clubs and women do.”</p>
<p>“Are you calling my a bad hostess?” said Freddie with fake indignation.</p>
<p>“Hostess? This is <em>our</em> collective Scrabble board,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Yes but we chose to play it in <em>my</em> hotel room.”</p>
<p>“Is that all it takes to be a hostess?” said Roger with a grin.</p>
<p>“Well in that case, I am calling you a bad hostess,” Brian stood, stretched his back that was no doubt sore after sitting on the luggage carrier all night. “Such a bad hostess that I need a full night’s sleep to recover.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” said Freddie with a lazy swipe of his arm across the table. Roger waited on the other end with the Scrabble lid to catch the tiles as Freddie swept them. “Fine, go get your beauty rest. If you wake up hideous again I’ll know you were lying.”</p>
<p>“Deal,” said Brian.</p>
<p>They found their jackets, offered each other a smattering of goodnights as Freddie ushered them out, the sleepiness starting to show in his face as he shut the door with a quiet wave. John had his keys ready, his eyes on his door, and bolted to his room as soon as he could. So serious about his sleep, serious about everything else too.</p>
<p>“You’re walking like you’re a narcoleptic trying to get to a soft surface before it strikes,” called Roger down the hall.</p>
<p>“Maybe if you made an effort to sleep one night through we wouldn’t have to drag you kicking and screaming out of bed every day at noon,” said John in reply.</p>
<p>“G’night John,” called Brian, a pace or two away from Roger, searching his pockets for his hotel key the same as Roger.</p>
<p>“See you both at the crack of dawn,” he added before shutting his door.</p>
<p>Roger found his key in his jacket pocket and sighed in relief when he remembered the room number was embossed on it.</p>
<p>“Got your key?” said Brian, looking directly at the key in Roger’s palm.</p>
<p>“Er, yeah?” said Roger. “Got yours?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” said Brian, holding it up like Roger was genuinely curious.</p>
<p>“Okay well,” he took a step down the hall, “see you—”</p>
<p>“Y’know about all that marriage stuff,” began Brian. “It’s—You did say that that’s what I ought to be doing so, so, that’s what I’m doing, and I suppose it just feels odd to talk about it with you—”</p>
<p>“What—Brian,” Roger laughed, “what’re you talking about?”</p>
<p>“What…d’you mean? I’m…When we were talking about me getting engaged you seemed so…” Brian’s words trailed off. “Maybe I, maybe I misread.”</p>
<p>“Must have,” said Roger with a laugh that he didn’t mean. “I’m happy for you, Bri, really. It was—just hadn’t heard you talk about it much that was all. Why would I be anything but thrilled?” He held his breath, hoping Brian wouldn’t unravel this version of reality for them. Wouldn’t pierce this soft lie with the sharp truth.</p>
<p>“I guess…there’s no reason,” Brian said a bit quieter.</p>
<p>“G’night Bri,” Roger said, taking another few steps away from him, down the hall, “and congrats, tell Chrissie I said the same.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” said Brian, turning on his heel and stomping in the other direction. Roger rattled his doorknob, slammed his door as hard as he could, wondering if Brian heard it, wondering why he’d care if he did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their second night they weren’t confined to the hotel. But going out wasn’t the fun Roger normally found it to be. The bars were quieter than he remembered, more cramped than he liked, and the women were boring in a way he couldn’t describe. He’d gone home with some redhead who he kicked out before she could fall asleep in his bed. He showered for ages after that, trying to scrub the whole, strange and unpleasant aura off the whole night. When their manager asked they take their last night in New York off as well, Roger didn’t bother complaining. If he was honest, he’d probably end up having more fun locked up than roaming the city.</p>
<p>“Freddie I really don’t think these are the rules,” said Roger as he watched Freddie discard his entire hand and pull five new cards from the deck.</p>
<p>“Yes it is, you only play Texas Holdem, you wouldn’t know,” said Freddie. “This is Five Card Draw, that means I can draw <em>five cards</em>.”</p>
<p>“What—no it doesn’t, you can only draw three! You draw five in Seven Card Draw!” laughed Roger. “And—for that matter, we’re playing Five Card<em> Stud</em>.”</p>
<p>“Are we?” said Freddie, peeking over his cards. “Is that why your lots cards are face up?”</p>
<p>“This is hopeless,” said Roger with a laugh and a tired shake of his head.</p>
<p>“Wait—wait—don’t end the game yet I’ve got a pair of aces,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“Well, I fold,” said John.</p>
<p>“Or—or,” Freddie giggled, “am I <em>bluffing?!”</em></p>
<p>“I fold too,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Roger reached across the little table and swept everyone’s cards back in his direction. Freddie reluctantly handed over his hand, including his pair of aces, and let Roger reform them all into a deck. “How’s about something else.”</p>
<p>“Not Scrabble,” said John. Brian had already beaten them horribly about an hour before.</p>
<p>“God no,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“You afraid to lose again, Deaky?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Not afraid, just dreading it,” sighed John.</p>
<p>“Well what else is there?” said Freddie. “The only other card game I know is go-fish and I’m not in the mood.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t suggesting another card game,” said Roger. “Why don’t we try out the hotel pool?”</p>
<p>“Pool?” Freddie perked up. “Since when do you swim?”</p>
<p>“What’s that mean?” scoffed Roger. “I’m from fucking Cornwall, I’ve swam since—since ever.”</p>
<p>“Without holding your nose?” said John.</p>
<p>“Yes without holding my nose,” said Roger in a high pitched tone.</p>
<p>“I’d be in,” said Brian. “It’s all—the pool’s heated right?”</p>
<p>“Of course it’s heated,” groaned Roger. “It’s an indoor fucking pool. I’m not suggesting we go wade around in some frozen iceblock of a New York neighbourhood pool and wait to be mobbed.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like more fun that soaking in some bathwater-hot hotel pool with strange guests wandering in and out,” said John.</p>
<p>“I’m sure they’d make it private for us, just for an hour or two,” said Roger. “C’mon, I’m going stir crazy in here.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” hummed Freddie thoughtfully. He shook his head. “I’d rather not get my hair wet. I don’t want to try and straighten it again tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“And I’d rather not get caught in the elevator in my swim trunks,” said John.</p>
<p>“It’d be fun,” said Roger, still hopeful he might sway them.</p>
<p>“You and Brian go splash around. If I find a swim cap I’ll join you,” said Freddie, flippantly.</p>
<p>“And I will not join you, even if I find a swim cap,” said John flatly.</p>
<p>Roger looked between them both, hopeful that they might change their minds if he looked at them with sad eyes for long enough. And when they didn’t he turned to Brian, who grinned back. “Well,” Roger sighed, “go get your trunks.”</p>
<p>“Don’t sound too excited,” teased Brian as he hopped up.</p>
<p>“Y’know t’s difficult to play chicken with just two people,” said Roger. He stood and eyed Freddie and John a little more harshly. “If only we had two more players.”</p>
<p>“I <em>said</em> I’d join you if I found a swim cap,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“And I said no.” John grinned up at him. Roger ruffled his hair just to annoy him on his way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After some begging with their tour manager, they got the hotel to block off of the pool for them and promised they wouldn’t roam or in any way inconvenience the poor security guards that more than deserved a break from the hysteria. Luckily, the pool didn’t seem to be in high demand given it was January and swimming wasn’t really on people’s minds. Roger never minded it but Brian was never one to use his fame for anything, even forcing a few people out of a hotel pool. One of their guards stood by the big swinging entrance on the other side of the locker rooms. It didn’t feel very secure but Roger didn’t mind if it meant he got to do something other than play Scrabble and drink.</p>
<p>“I thought it’d be bigger,” said Brian as Roger let the door swing closed behind them. The pool wasn’t the big lap pool Roger had been picturing. It was smaller, shorter than he’d expected from a hotel.</p>
<p>“It’s not a gym,” said Roger with a shrug. “No real <em>need</em> for it be any bigger.”</p>
<p>“Still,” Brian lifted his shirt from the hem, “I thought’d it be bigger. And less medical.”</p>
<p>Roger grinned. The room did have a distinctly sterile feel. The only lights on were the bright white ones embedded in the pool. The walls were bare aside from posted up warnings about swimming alone, and the windows looked out onto tightly packed bushes that couldn’t offer much for ambiance. “It’s better than teaching Freddie poker.”</p>
<p>“I think he almost had it,” said Brian. He tossed his shirt in the general direction of a faded, stretched-out plastic chaise. Roger couldn’t imagine, even in the day, they got much sun through the blocked up windows, and didn’t see any need for a chaise, much less two. But they kept his shoes and his shirt off the ground so they served <em>some</em> purpose.</p>
<p>Brian rushed around to the diving board. He bounced on it with small motions twice, balancing himself, before he plunged in with some attempt at a swan dive. Roger rolled his eyes and made his way into the water via the ladder. He waded through the shallow end waited until Brian resurfaced to clap. “Are you on the British diving team then?”</p>
<p>“They keep asking me,” said Brian, wiping the chlorine from his eyes. “I never humour their begging though.”</p>
<p>“You’re too humble,” said Roger. He swam out a bit further from the shallows, just until the warm water hit his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Any dives of your own?” said Brian</p>
<p>Roger shrugged. “Nothing with form.”</p>
<p>“Can’t dive or won’t dive?” said Brian, getting right to the point.</p>
<p>“I can, I suppose,” Roger shifted, foot to foot, floating in between and relishing the feeling of light, chlorinated water under him. So much easier to move around in than the sea. “Not exactly easy to install a diving board at the beach.”</p>
<p>“I’m hearing a lot of excuses,” said Brian with a smirk.</p>
<p>“I’ve jumped off those—those cliffs,” said Roger, “but it’s not common practice to dive headfirst off a cliff into some great big lake.”</p>
<p>Brian laughed. “As if diving in headfirst or feet-first would be what saved you on the off chance it wasn’t deep enough.”</p>
<p>“I don’t make the rules,” said Roger, holding his hands up with a grin. “One of my friends did have a community pool, but no diving board. Barely enough room to get in anyway.”</p>
<p>“I had a mate who could do a backflip in,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Oh God,” Roger winced, “my friend try that once, bashed his foot on the edge of the pool on the downswing, it was horrible.”</p>
<p>“Did it break?” said Brian with wide eyes.</p>
<p>“Of course it broke,” laughed Roger. “And he still went in the water, he had to swim to the surface with one broken foot.”</p>
<p>“Did he ever swim again?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“How should I know, I was eight,” shrugged Roger. “The next year we moved to Truro.”</p>
<p>“Oh that’s right.” Brian shifted around under the water, leant forward then back, bounced a bit and started a backstroke towards the diving board at the deep end. “I always forget you moved around.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” said Roger with a cocked head. “It’s not like it effected me all that much.”</p>
<p>“Sure it didn’t,” said Brian. He pulled himself up to the side of the pool, heaved himself out and hurried back up on the diving board. “You do that you know,” said Brian, steading himself on the edge of the board. “You like to pretend nothing effects you.”</p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Roger. But his words were drowned out by the sound of Brian’s dive. Roger didn’t repeat himself when Brian resurfaced and shook his wet curls out. It was funny how they moved. Pin straight when doused with water, but the instant Brian shook them out like an old sheep dog their curliness came right back.</p>
<p>“How’d that one look?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Roger. “I’m pretending it doesn’t effect me.”</p>
<p>“Come off it,” sighed Brian as he paddled back over to Roger. “I only meant you don’t let it show if something’s bothering you.” Brian ran a hand through his hair, brushed it out of his face, and winced when he accidentally tugged his it trying to get his fingers to weave all the way through his locks. “It’s a compliment.”</p>
<p>“How’s that a compliment?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“How’s it not?” said Brian. “You’re—you’re strong, don’t let things get to you if they don’t need to. Or—at least you don’t show it when they have. That’s impressive.”</p>
<p>“Impressive?” Roger cocked one eyebrow. “You’re impressed by me?”</p>
<p>“Don’t get carried away,” Brian laughed. “It’s not always good that you bottle shit up and let it explode at random intervals. But it’s nice that you can be counted on not to lose your head when it matters.”</p>
<p>“Wow,” said Roger with a teasing tone. He was flattered, and wanted to hear more like that from Brian, but it wasn’t how they normally talked. Complimenting eachother wasn’t a habit either of them fell into. His natural response was teasing, laughing his way out of it. “You’re saying all this <em>after</em> I chucked that drumkit off stage?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I am,” laughed Brian. He kicked a bit, waded closer.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger sighed, “thanks I guess.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome I guess,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“I’m impressed by you too,” said Roger, more meek than he’d ever been around Brian.</p>
<p>“You are?” Brian laughed. “I don’t believe you, you’re not easy to impress.”</p>
<p>“I’m not, but you still are impressive,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“You can play guitar nearly as good as me,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“I can’t,” Roger laughed, he was leaps and bounds behind Brian in terms of skill, and he didn’t mind admitting it, “but I wasn’t talking about being a guitarist—of course I’m impressed with Freddie’s voice and John’s bass playing, so’s the whole world.”</p>
<p>“I see,” said Brian, his voice lilting up at the end, confused still by Roger’s words. And if Roger was honest, he was confused too. “So not my guitar, then…”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Roger, “you’re just so much more,” he brought his hands up to the water hoped the way he gestured them vaguely would convey what his words were struggling to say, “more open than me.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t say that,” scoffed Brian. “I’m a right fuddy-duddy compared to you and Fred.”</p>
<p>“But you’re,” his hands flexed at the edge of the water, as if handing Brian over the nebulous thoughts he could get out, “you’re not afraid of embarrassing yourself or, or, what people might think, not the way I am.”</p>
<p>“You’re worried what people might think?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“With certain things,” said Roger, his gaze falling to the light reflecting through the water.</p>
<p>“So am I,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem like it,” said Roger, just barely daring to look up at him.</p>
<p>“Neither do you,” said Brian. Roger just eyed him, flattered maybe, but more curious what exactly Brian was getting at. “So you really weren’t bothered by the wedding?”</p>
<p>“This again?” Roger laughed, and wondered why it felt forced.</p>
<p>“If you say you’re not, I’ll believe you, I just want to be sure,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger cleared his throat, “I’m not,” it felt odd to lie like that, when he didn’t know why his words weren’t the truth. “I’m happy for you, I’m sure me and Jo are headed in the same direction, there’s no need to…to do all this,” he said, gesturing between them.</p>
<p>“You mean that?” mumbled Brian. Almost like he didn’t want Roger to double down.</p>
<p>“Hm,” said Roger. He stared up at Brian. Only by a bit. In the water he bent his knees to be a more level with Roger, to be a bit more covered by the warmth of the water. It was odd to see him practically on eye level that way. “Do you, er,” began Roger, his eyes drifted from Brian’s, “do you think that woman’s still here?”</p>
<p>“What woman?” said Brian before realisation dawned on him. “Oh…” he said. Roger glanced back, saw he’d averted his eyes too, but caught his gaze again before he added, “I don’t know, but I hope so.”</p>
<p>“You hope?” said Roger, inching forward under the guise of the soft current in the water taking him.</p>
<p>“If only so that we can even it out,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Even it out?” said Roger, suddenly unsure if they were on the same page.</p>
<p>“Well, you sucked me off, then gave me a handjob,” said Brian. “We’re not even, I’ve not even come close to doing that for you.”</p>
<p>“It’s not for me,” said Roger. “It’s for her, everything’s for her, remember.” He said it more like a warning.</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” said Brian softly. “But I wish we’d find her again, just to even it up.”</p>
<p>“So you,” Roger breathed in slow, “you <em>want</em> to suck me off?”</p>
<p>“It’s not that I want to,” said Brian, shifting one leg between Roger’s under the water. “I sort of owe it to you don’t I?”</p>
<p>“I suppose you do,” said Roger, hopping forward, leaning into the feeling of Brian’s thigh between his legs. He moved closer still, felt Brian do the same. Felt Brian’s fingertips graze his hip. Roger breathed in sharp, his touch practically electric. He inched forward, pressed his hardening cock against Brian’s hip, pushed his thigh higher for Brian to move against, to grind against.</p>
<p>Maybe it was different underwater. Maybe the desperate grinding against each other didn’t count under the quiet waters of the pool. With the distortion from the ripples, it was hard to see whatever laid between them, they didn’t have to worry about how it might look. Roger could focus on how it felt, grinding slow and soft with the resistance of the water against Brian’s hip, twisting his hips to get more friction, more relief, moving his thigh, his hip up to give the same to Brian.</p>
<p>Brian looked at him through heavily lidded eyes, Roger looked back with the same. His breath hitched and he reached down, trailing his fingers down Brian’s back before grabbing his waist, pulling him closer, over and over again in time with the thrusts of his hips. He looked up at Brian desperately, tilted his chin up, inviting him in, but neither could make the final decision, neither moved in any closer, neither made any move to meet their lips, instead they breathed each other in and tried not to make a sound louder than the water quietly splashing with the force of their rutting.</p>
<p>Brian hissed and ran a hand across Roger’s thigh, up up up until he reached his hip, then down again, dipping into the waistband of his trunks, and sloppily stroking him. Roger sighed and stilled his hips while Brian’s hand moved in slow heavy motions. “It’s big,” said Brian quietly.</p>
<p>Roger just sighed and bucked up into the touch. His leg, still between Brian’s, moved a bit, twitched, tried to give Brian something to grind against but mostly he leant into the feeling of Brian’s hand stroking his cock like his life depended on it.</p>
<p>“Do you want to get out?” said Brian. “Just on the edge?”</p>
<p>“What?” said Roger, bucking his hips when Brian’s hand slowed down. “Why—don’t stop.”</p>
<p>“I only meant,” Brian brushed his thumb across Roger’s head, too light for relief but heavy enough to make him shiver, “I can’t suck you off underwater.”</p>
<p>Roger looked up at him. Looked at the way his curls hung limp and his cheeks burned a bright red while his eyes stared back at Roger, full of anticipation and shyness. “You don’t have to.”</p>
<p>“I’m offering,” said Brian, his voice a bit quieter.</p>
<p>Roger stared up at him, at his parted lips and desperate expression and wished there were a way to kiss him. A way to get closer, to thank him, to take more of him in. Wished there were a way to make that as innocuous as everything else they did.</p>
<p>He pulled away from Brian, swam to the edge and felt Brian hot on his trail. The sharp echos of the splashes when Roger heaved himself out bounced off the walls and rung in his ears, much too loud, much more exposing than he wanted it to be. But he couldn’t linger on the uncertainty, the shyness of it. Brian swam up, eased himself between Roger’s knees, and reached up to palm him through his trunks. Roger sighed and looked over at the door.</p>
<p>“It’s guarded,” said Brian, noticing where his eyes were focused. He freed Roger’s cock, stroked him slow and shifted in the water to get just a bit closer. “No one’ll burst in.”</p>
<p>“i know,” said Roger, quietly, “just paranoid.”</p>
<p>“I know,” said Brian. He leant forward, pressed his lips to Roger’s hip, his soft stomach, lingering at each point before pulling back enough to lick a wet stripe up Roger’s cock. “I’m not the expert like you,” he said.</p>
<p>“Go slow,” said Roger in a hushed voice. “Don’t take too much at once.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Brian grinned, “my mouth’s bigger than yours, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Roger grinned back and watched, holding his breath, as Brian’s mouth enveloped him. Just his head at first, just enough to get used to the weight of it, the heat, the size, the taste, just enough to make Roger shiver. He swore, hissed Brian’s name and ran a hand through his wet, knotted up hair. Brian hummed and took him deeper incrementally, but deeper, moved his hand quicker, made Roger’s breath hitch, made him struggle to stay quiet. Brian’s other hand held his thigh, then his waist, constantly clawing at him, like he wanted to get closer. Roger did the same with his hands through Brian’s hair. He hoped the way he scratched his scalp and mumbled words of praise would get across something. He didn’t know what emotion, what idea it was, he just knew it was strong.</p>
<p>Brian took him deeper, made Roger whine and look up at the door panicked someone might’ve heard him. Deeper still and Roger was panting, and deeper still until Brian’s nose was nestled against him. Only for a moment before he pulled off with his eyes rimmed with tears from holding his breath. Roger stared down at him, about as dazed as him, and practically sobbed when he kissed his way back up Roger’s thigh, back to his cock.</p>
<p>Roger laid back, too overwhelmed with the sensation to sit upright anymore, too far gone to care how the rough tile felt on his bare back. He looked over at the door again, spread his legs unconsciously, and arched up, undulated his hips just enough for Brian to notice, just enough to urge him to move faster. Brian reached a hand up, for Roger’s stomach, across his ribs, as high on his chest as he could reach before Roger covered his hand with his own, held it tight, maybe too tight, as he got closer and closer.</p>
<p>“Brian,” Roger choked out. He glanced back at the door, making sure once again that the guard had done his job. And he closed his eyes, whispered that he was close and felt Brian’s tongue, his hand speed up in response. He moaned Brian’s name, gripped his hand tighter, and arched up off the tile when Brian sent him over the edge. His tongue didn’t stop working his head, his hand didn’t stop stroking. Roger clawed at the tile and groaned some guttural noise as the intense waves of pleasure were forced out of him over and over again. He bucked his hips up and threw one last glance to the door.</p>
<p>The open door.</p>
<p>Roger couldn’t stop the way his hips moved, the way he gripped Brian’s hand and reached down for his curls, the way his legs shook and his voice buckled, he was too far past the point of sensibility and control to kick Brian away and cover up like nothing was happening. He just stared at the open door, at Freddie’s silhouetted form standing in it, and hoped he’d leave. He did. Just as soon as he’d come in, he was gone. Roger wondered where he might be going, what he must be thinking, if anyone else had heard or seen and Freddie was the only one he caught, but the way Brian swallowed around him brought his thoughts back in the room.</p>
<p>“You still taste good,” said Brian, his lips ghosting over his sensitive cock. Roger sighed, sat up and put a hand through Brian’s hair again. “Alright? You look pale.”</p>
<p>“Do I?” said Roger, he shivered when Brian righted his swim trunks for him. “I guess you’re just that good.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” said Brian, his hand slipping off Roger’s knee, a grin spreading over his face. “We’re even now,” he mumbled as he wiped his mouth.</p>
<p>Roger sighed and gripped the edge of the pool tight. So much of him wanted to slide back into the water, to invade Brian’s mouth with his tongue, to wrap a hand around his cock and make him squirm and beg for a few minutes until Roger made him come. But that was the come down talking, it had to be. Had to be muddled up thoughts from the adrenaline, not genuine desires. So he brought his feet up out of the water and stood. “We should head back up.”</p>
<p>He waited for Brian to climb out with the ladder and tugged his shirt back on quick, not worried about how it stuck to his wet skin, trying not to notice the way Brian’s shirt clung to him. Roger led the way out, and couldn’t help feel relieved that the guard rode with them back up the elevator. There was a lot he wanted to say to Brian, a lot he wanted to pour out hand over fist, a lot that he couldn’t explain to himself but nevertheless wanted to get out. And all of it, every last bit of it, was better kept to himself.</p>
<p>Brian called a strangely quiet goodnight after Roger when he splintered off their path to his room. Roger called one right back, quick and eager in a way he couldn’t explain. His eyes lingered on Brian, and Brian lingered on him as he turned his key. But once the door was open, he hurried inside.</p>
<p>Roger wanted to do the same, wanted to rush inside his room, jump in his shower and stay in there until the heat and steam made him whole again. But he couldn’t, not yet.</p>
<p>He padded his way down the hall to Freddie’s room and hesitated for a moment before slamming his fist on the door with panicky, uneven thuds.</p>
<p>“Didn’t order anything!” called Freddie from the inside.</p>
<p>“Open the fucking door, Fred!” called Roger. It was only another moment before the chain lock was unthreaded and the door swung wide open.</p>
<p>“What brings you by?” said Freddie with a totally blank expression.</p>
<p>“Don’t give me all that,” Roger shoved past him, strode into his room and checked the bathroom, the closet, and under the bed for anyone Freddie might’ve sunk his claws into for the night.</p>
<p>“Do you think I stole something off you?” said Freddie with a giggle as he watched Roger clamber back up on his feet after kneeling by the bed. “I steal your shit all the time, Rog, there’d be no sense in hiding it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not fucking checking for something you stole,” Roger groaned, “I was just checking that we’re alone.”</p>
<p>“Why, what’s so urgent and so private?” said Freddie.</p>
<p>Roger sat on the edge of Freddie’s bed with a flop and stared up at him tiredly. “You know what, Freddie.”</p>
<p>Freddie stared back at him, looked like he might play coy some more, but maybe he could tell how unconvinced and unimpressed Roger was by his expression. He sighed, deep and aching, and sat by Roger on the bed. “I thought you might not want me to mention it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to mention it,” said Roger. He rested his elbows on his knees, groaned and rubbed his tired eyes. “But I had to explain it to you.”</p>
<p>“Oh—” Freddie scoffed, “I think I know how blowjobs work by now.”</p>
<p>“No I mean,” Roger sighed, breathed in deep, tried not to let his frustration get the better of him, “I mean it’s not like that.”</p>
<p>“Like what?” Freddie leant forward, leant over trying to catch Roger’s downcast gaze.</p>
<p>“It’s—we’re not like you,” said Roger. “We’re not—we don’t…we’re not…”</p>
<p>“What? Poofs?” said Freddie, slightly less amused in tone.</p>
<p>“It’s not a bad thing,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“I know it’s not,” snapped Freddie.</p>
<p>“But that’s not what we are—he’s still getting engaged, I’m still with Jo, it’s all, it’s all separate, all different,” said Roger, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.</p>
<p>“I mean,” Freddie sighed, “one blowie between mates doesn’t have to spell the end times.” He shifted closer, rested his shoulder on Roger’s. “But if it’s indicative of…anything, that’s all, that’s all fine.”</p>
<p>“Well it’s not indicative of anything,” said Roger a bit too sharp. “It’s just a mistake.”</p>
<p>“A mistake you <em>really</em> seemed to enjoy,” said Freddie with a laugh. A laugh that Roger didn’t share. Didn’t bother to even acknowledge. “Rog, c’mon, don’t be so serious.” He reached up to pinch his cheek but Roger dodged him. “It’s not the end of the world, it’s one blowjob. I could give you one right now to prove it’s not a big deal.” He nudged Roger with his elbow. “I didn’t <em>expect</em> to see Brian sucking you off when I walked in but I’m not phoning Jo to tell her she’s living a lie. It’s just a bit of fun.”</p>
<p>Maybe if that were true, Roger could relax. Maybe if it were one isolated incident. One series of strange events between friends in a foreign city, then his heart wouldn’t be pounding, his palms wouldn’t be sweating with anxiety.</p>
<p>And maybe he ought to turn to Freddie unload it all. Every last gory detail. The way they were together with that woman, the way Roger felt moving with him, holding onto him, waking up with him, sucking his cock. The way they’d desperately searched for a repeat event at the farm, the way Brian had licked up the mess Roger left in that farmgirl, the way Roger finished him off in the van. The way he still thought about that brief and formless kiss Brian mistakenly pressed to his lips. Maybe if he gave Freddie all of that, told Freddie that in the heat of it all he wanted much more from him, told Freddie that when loneliness got the better of him he still thought of Brian’s cock against his, maybe then Freddie wouldn’t dismiss it, wouldn’t see Roger as such a prudish loon for worrying about it.</p>
<p>But if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to see Freddie’s face painted with worry and shock, didn’t want to be told by someone who knew better than him when these sorts of things crossed a line. Didn’t want to be told he was far gone.</p>
<p>“Well, I just wanted to make sure you—you didn’t get the wrong idea about anything,” said Roger with a tight lip.</p>
<p>“Odd shit happens on tour,” Freddie shrugged.</p>
<p>“Oh—and don’t—don’t mention it to Brian,” Roger sighed, “he doesn’t know you saw, I think it’d just embarrass him.” That was a lie, an outright lie. Of course Brian would’ve wanted to know something like that, would want to know who had information like that. But more selfishly, Roger didn’t want Brian on alert. Didn’t want him to suddenly worry about what they might do, about who might see it, about if it’d get back to Chrissie. No, if he could keep this one a secret from him, keep Brian from closing off in any way, he’d do it.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t even going to mention it to you,” Freddie scoffed, “and you looked me in the eyes while you came. I’m certainly not mentioning it to Brian.”</p>
<p>“Just checking,” said Roger blankly. He stood, stretched, and faked a yawn. “Well—I’m off to bed.”</p>
<p>“You’re sure you’re alright?” said Freddie with a hint of anxiety. “You seem a little off.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you be,” said Roger with a fake laugh. “It’s been a hell of a weird night.” As if, this far down the rabbit hole with Brian, he had any right to feel strangely about what they did.</p>
<p>“I suppose the first bloke is always the most shocking to the system,” said Freddie. “It’ll pass by morning, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” said Roger, noncommittally. He offered some quiet goodnight and hurried to the door. Freddie rushed behind him, trying to see him out but Roger beat him to the doorknob and didn’t wait for any secondary goodbye once he was out in the hall. He heard Freddie offer a ‘see you tomorrow’ that he reciprocated only with a small wave before he shoved his hotel room open with his shoulder.</p>
<p>The door slammed behind him. He locked it, dropped the key on the floor by his feet and padded to the bathroom. He tugged the shower on as hot as he could make it and stripped as the room filled with steam.</p>
<p>He eyed himself in the mirror, the fog slowly overtaking his reflection, and tried, hard, to remind himself it was all okay. All part of rock stardom. All part of their game with the woman. All part of showing off for her, getting her hot. But it was a much harder sell these days, after so much came between just the two of them. But still, somehow, it couldn’t count. At the farm they’d been alone sure, but the night had been cut short, Brian was left in the lurch, that was friendly, a friendly helping hand. And this time, sure they were alone, but it was to get even. And maybe somehow that made it less wrong, less of a crossed line and more of a funny anecdote for down the line. Maybe.</p>
<p>It was all a tough sell in his mirror, his mind constantly fighting with him, reminding him of the errant thoughts of his tongue against Brian’s, his hands on his bony body, his cock buried deep inside him. Thoughts that made it hard to convince himself this was all for a laugh, for female attention.</p>
<p>Hopefully Freddie was right, hopefully the morning would bring him clarity. Or at very least, Brian would go along with him when he pretended it didn’t happen.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all! I hope the short delay is worth this next chapter, it's a little over 13k so I'm sorry if it's too long or what have you but I hope you enjoy it! please comment if you do ! &lt;33</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Brian and Chrissie really weren’t two people who cared for flair and flash. Their engagement, their wedding plans were so, under-the-radar, so low-key, Roger had barely believed they were real. When Chrissie visited them in the studio, when he saw her ring, saw the proof of the engagement, it felt fake. Like they were all playing pretend. He remembered looking at Brian through the glass in the studio when he recorded the vocals for Drowse. Remember how his voice fluttered when he added in Brian’s name at the end, remembered the way Brian grinned. Surely that was worth more than some ring.</p>
<p>But then they booked the courthouse, planned the reception in some old music hall. Asked that any gifts be personal rather than flashy. Brian missed their traditional pub night out after the completion of an album to have dinner with her parents. Freddie had to take Roger for a new suit. It wasn’t a formal affair, no tuxedos certainly, but he needed something with no sequins or ridiculous patterns according to Freddie. It trickled down, slowly sank in, and was forced down his throat with one final punch when Brian asked him as his best man.</p>
<p>The memory of that moment was fogged, but he knew he laughed at first, as if the joke had gone on long enough and he was ready to hear the punchline. When Brian stayed stoic, Roger stopped his nervous giggling and said yes. One last one, he figured, one last moment of closeness with him. And though he’d said, back at the farm, that this was the path they were both meant to follow, it made his stomach turn to think of Brian committed like that, more legally than before, more officially. And while the legality of marriage never meant anything to Roger, it did to Brian. Roger proposing, walking down to the courthouse with someone was an act of boredom or impulse, for Brian it was weighty.</p>
<p>But he’d send him off with one, that was the best he could do, was send him off on a raucous night out.</p>
<p>The sort of night Brian pretended was too much. Too much drinking, too many drugs, too many women. The kind Roger knew, deep down, he wished he got more of. Roger’s sparkling new, practically empty, house was the setting. He’d bought it with the money off the tour, the sales of their new album. It looked full right then at the party, as he meandered through the crowds of people with a drink and a fag in one hand and some mystery hors d'oeuvres in the other. But once it was over, it’d be painfully airy and devoid of life again.</p>
<p>It was there, in his big empty soulless house, there in the barren living room, before the boxes even arrived, where now there was women dancing and men making fools of themselves to get a touch. It’d been there that he and Jo sat crosslegged, eating a takeaway lunch, talking about wallpaper, that Roger blurted out that he’d gone too far with Brian. Those were the words he’d used ‘gone too far’. She offered ’slept with’ but that wasn’t right. She said she preferred him cheating with Brian, said it didn’t make her feel so inferior if she knew it wasn’t something she lacked. Roger wanted to correct her, to go over with her that it hadn’t been actual sex, hadn’t really been cheating, but at the end of her rope, if that little bit of belief calmed her he wouldn’t take it from her, not sat there in his big empty house, knowing all the furniture, all the decor would be his and his alone, and she’d never see it finished.</p>
<p>She left him under the guise of fatigue and a new man. Both were true, she was tired of Roger’s women, and she had found someone willing to be faithful. But she left because Roger told her, and every inch of the house was a reminder that she was meant to fill it with love and with her gone it was just the scene for some party. Some bash for Brian, some precursor to his long happy life with Chrissie. A life where he’d buy a grand old house and Chrissie would make it a home for them both while Roger rotted alone in his big opulent cavern.</p>
<p>“What’s got you so glum?” said a voice in Roger’s ear. He perked up to turn around, plastered on the same fake grin he’d had on all night. John grinned back at him.</p>
<p>“Nothing, nothing,” he said with a wave, “coke’s getting to me I think.”</p>
<p>“Since when does coke make you do anything besides dance like a prat and fuck the nearest warm body?”</p>
<p>Roger, without an answer, just shrugged.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” said John with an encouraging smile, “let’s get your mind off her.” He tugged Roger through the people, seemingly headed towards the drinks, at very least the kitchen.</p>
<p>If Roger was honest, he didn’t want any more. Jo’s absence wasn’t upsetting him. It was on some level, she’d been one of his closest confidants since before he could remember, his first live in girlfriend, and quite nearly his wife. But he’d tormented her with his affairs long enough and knew she saw her new life with her more stable man as a welcome change of pace even if it came with a smaller house. He’d miss her, but couldn’t say he missed being with her. He missed what she meant for him. Missed that he didn’t have another standby like Brian did. He knew he’d be more of a wreck than he cared to admit when Brian’s wedding rolled around, but he didn’t expect to be trapped in a house with an icy bed and icier halls while it happened.</p>
<p>“Here,” said John, doing a line off some tray. In his glum state he damn near warned John that neither of them knew what it might be cut with. Something he’d never actually stopped to worry about before. He shook the thought off and did a line to follow him. It might not help his mood, but it’d give him more energy, maybe enough energy to find some woman for the night. Someone to pay attention to him with no pretense or expectations.</p>
<p>He danced with Freddie, stuck his tongue down the throat of the woman trailing him all night, got a few more drinks and didn’t feel an inch better. He clapped Brian’s shoulder and teased his shyness when the stripper they’d hired climbed in his lap and he stumbled out a ‘thank you’. The drinking, the drugs, kept a smile plastered on his face, but under it all he felt painfully sober, painfully aware that this was their last hoorah.</p>
<p>Freddie invited Brian for a line, he took it like a university freshman and passed what he hadn’t been able to snort off to Roger. Roger passed it off to John, it’d be wasted on him at this point. But he kept his fake smile going, his fake laughter going while Brian came down off that searing high of the first few seconds. The kind that made you feel like your heart might burst, made you feel like everyone around you was insane for taking it. Brian clutched the wrought iron grill of Roger’s oven and blinked hard through that phase. Roger watched him intently, watched him settle into that calm high. His pupils widened, his hands jittered, but he definitely didn’t look convinced he was about to go into cardiac arrest anymore.</p>
<p>“There he goes!” said Freddie. “You need to do this shit more often, every time you do you look like a fifteen year old.”</p>
<p>Brian laughed and brought a shaking hand up to wipe his forehead. “As if any of us were doing this when we were fifteen.”</p>
<p>“Would’ve if I’d known about it,” said John. He took up the remainder that Brian hadn’t managed to get down and held still while the initial burn wore off.</p>
<p>“Shit always gives me a headache,” said Brian, already rubbing his temple.</p>
<p>“Oh—oh—oh,” Freddie fluttered his hands, “cut it off before it starts. We’ve barely passed midnight.”</p>
<p>“How’m I meant to ‘cut it off’?” Brian laughed, his fingertips still massaging his temple, up to his scalp.</p>
<p>“Water,” said John.</p>
<p>“Fresh air,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“Both,” said Roger. He meandered around the island in his frightfully empty kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet.</p>
<p>“Where’s fresh air?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Out on the terrace,” said Roger. He filled the glass at the tap and handed it off to Brian. “Come on, Freddie’s right, the night’s still young. The guest of honour can’t call it quits just yet.”</p>
<p>“I’ll keep the troops rallied,” said Freddie, as if he hadn’t been the life of the party all night.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Brian sipped his water, “where’s the terrace.”</p>
<p>“This way, stilts,” said Roger with a grin. A grin that faded once he’d started leading Brian through the halls and out to the back terrace. It was cold that night, not cold enough to shiver, but cold enough that the guests preferred the welcoming warmth and company of the indoors. “Fag?” Roger extended his carton to Brian who shook his head.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t either,” he said when Roger reached to pull a cigarette out.</p>
<p>“Why’s that?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“It’s my stag do, my rules,” he said with a grin. Roger sighed and put the carton back in his jacket pocket. “You’ll thank me one day.”</p>
<p>“Sure I will, Dr. May,” Roger teased. Brian leant on the railing of the terrace, old stone railing that prevented anyone from tumbling down the short, squat hill Roger’s house sat on. The railing itself was short and squat too, too short to rest comfortably on, almost too short to sit on without looking daft but Roger managed, Brian looked a bit sillier sitting there with his knees up so high. “You having fun then? Aside from the headache?”</p>
<p>Brian, mid-sip of his water, nodded and swallowed. “It’s been awhile since we’ve thrown something this big.”</p>
<p>“All for you, Mr. Mullens,” Roger elbowed his side.</p>
<p>“God,” he grinned, rubbed his face tiredly, and sighed, “she’s gonna be Chrissie May.”</p>
<p>“I know,” said Roger, hoping his tone didn’t sound as annoyed as he was.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if it’s hit me yet that we’ll be <em>married</em> married,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“How’s it not hit you?” Roger scoffed. How could it not hit Brian? It was pummeling Roger. “You proposed.”</p>
<p>“I know but,” he turned to Roger, “I kept thinking something might change.”</p>
<p>“What something?” said Roger, staring back.</p>
<p>Brian eyed him for a moment then turned back to stare at his feet. “Dunno…just talking shite.”</p>
<p>“You’re excited aren’t you?” said Roger, knowing what answer he hoped he’d get.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Brian lit up, Roger’s shoulders sank along with any hopes of a good mood, “of course, I love her. It just doesn’t seem real yet.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger coughed, hoping to get the lump in his throat gone, “it’ll seem real soon enough.”</p>
<p>“It’s good of you to…” Brian sat up a bit, leant back a bit, eyed Roger a bit more shyly, “good of you to throw me this and—and to be my best man and, y’know hold this together for me.”</p>
<p>“Why’s that good of me?” Roger looked over at Brian with a laugh.</p>
<p>“With er…with Jo I thought it might…I don’t know,” he bailed out of his train of thought with a shrug. Roger couldn’t say he minded not hearing the end of that.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he reached for his cigarettes but stopped himself when he remembered what Brian said. “I don’t blame her, it’s…all water under the bridge.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t mean you don’t miss her,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t mean it’s hard for me to be happy for you though,” said Roger with a bit of a bite. He’d worked hard to curate a wholly supportive, excited image as Brian’s best man. Never showing any signs of the unease in his stomach every time he thought of them going down to that church, how he’d have to be there right by Brian’s side as he was promised away, as he left Roger in the dust with no Jo to fall back on, no proof that he was fine, that he didn’t need Brian and didn’t want him.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that,” said Brian. “I only meant to say thank you.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome then,” said Roger, trying not to clench his jaw too tight. “I really am happy.” He turned to Brian, lump in his throat, eyes more watery than he wanted but hopeful he could pass it all off on the coke or the drinks. “I’m really happy for you both.”</p>
<p>“I’m happy you’ll be there,” said Brian.</p>
<p>Roger smiled, weak and almost insincere. His gaze broke from Brians as he looked up and eyed everyone inside, backlit by the dim lights, all dancing and talking too loud to each other. It looked so much warmer in there than he’d ever seen it. More full of life than it’d ever been. More warm and full of life than it ever would be again. Tomorrow the small staff he’d had to hire would clean up after everyone, Roger included, and he’d ask the maids to join him for breakfast just to have someone to talk to, but they’d be too busy looking after the big empty house. He might call Freddie but Freddie would pry, would want to know the intimate details of his split with Jo if he knew it was effecting him so much. He couldn’t break that facade of careful nonchalance around him or he’d pounce.</p>
<p>Maybe he could leave the house, move back home, sit with his head in his mother’s lap for a week or two and wait for the wedding to pass without him, wait for someone else to move into his five bedroom mansion that had more rooms than furniture, and no love.</p>
<p>“I think my head’s clearing,” said Brian. He stood and stretched. “What else’ve you got planned for me in there?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger stood with him and felt his breath get caught somewhere deep in his chest, like someone pulled it right out of him, “you’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roger remembered smiling, keeping that same stupid grin on his face while the judge read off the legalities of marriage. Roger remembered Chrissie’s younger cousin, on the opposite side of her, looking at him like she’d never seen someone more interesting. Roger caught her eye once or twice but found it hard to focus on being fake happy if he noticed her blushing and staring.</p>
<p>When their little trade of rings and promises was through, when their certificate was signed, Brian kissed her, then turned to Roger, a grin as wider than Roger’d ever seen on his face, and hugged him. Brian wasn’t much one for hugs but he squeezed the life out of Roger like he’d been the one to officiate. Roger squeezed back, wondering if this was the last time he’d ever be so close to him. And when they hurried out of the reception, Roger didn’t mind the way Chrissie’s cousin clung to him and flattered him and promised him she’d do things far beyond her young ability.</p>
<p>The reception was at some hall they booked, something fairly mid range and plain. There wasn’t much food, if any, just a buffet, there weren’t many people either. Brian’s first or second cousin, who was practically a brother, was there. The only family member outside of his parents that Roger recognised. Some friends from school Roger’d been introduced to ages ago but hadn’t seen much of since. He and Freddie gave off a real poofter air when they were together, it was hard for Brian’s more straight laced friends to wrap their minds around Roger’s clothes, and his hair without writing him off as some music industry fairy who they’d rather not touch.</p>
<p>Of course Freddie somehow broke through those boundaries with Brian’s friends and had one of them on the dance floor for a waltz before the night was over. Roger never danced, not even when Chrissie’s cousin asked him to. He sat as his table and tried not to notice Brian and Chrissie talking close, dancing close, grinning at eachother like they were the only two in the room, in the universe.</p>
<p>His speech was mundane, lacking in any real substance, this and that about their friendship, how good he and Chrissie were together, how happy they’d be down the road, how happy she made him, how he couldn’t see Brian with anyone else. Convincing enough to make Chrissie well up, but untrue at it’s core. Untrue in a way he didn’t want to bother confronting.</p>
<p>He wasn’t the first to leave, but he was far from the last. And when he went he took Chrissie’s cousin with him. Roger’s own house was too far, would be too long of a cab ride. So he gave the cabbie directions to the nearest hotel, somewhere quick. Her dress, garish and full of frills, took ages to peel off but once it was balled up on the floor of the room, Roger laid back and let her climb onto his lap, let her ride him while he tried, hard, not to think of what Brian and Chrissie were up to right at that moment, back in their hotel suite. Tried hard not to think of why he was so focused on it, why it bothered him at all. Especially when he had ample distraction.</p>
<p>Chrissie’s cousin was plain looking, and far from the thin, leggy blondes he was used to. She was just rounding twenty, or maybe it was twenty three, he couldn’t remember. Either way, it was clear from how she rode Roger that she didn’t have much experience. She was a fairly bad lay, something Roger hadn’t honestly come across that often. But she was a warm body, she didn’t mind it rough, and she took whatever he gave her. Why couldn’t he focus. Not with her, not with Jo. The wedding totally taking over the forefront of his thoughts.</p>
<p>A big glowing representation of Brian growing up and putting a stop to the strange indulgences of their line of work, while Roger was left in a big empty house with no wife, no girlfriend. The band, his life, had started as a friendship between the two of them. The two of them, then Freddie then John, all up against the odds, the only constants in each other’s lives. But the moment he signed those papers that stopped being true. It wasn’t him and Brian and their band versus the world, it was Brian and Chrissie. One familial unit that Roger might be allowed to drop in on. And it wouldn’t be so bad to see Brian move on with his life, if he could do the same.</p>
<p>All that time ago, when Brian whispered how worried he was that Chrissie wanted to get married, how terrified he was that that meant a stop to all their fun, when Roger assured him their lives were meant to be spent that way, married off with their indiscretions a blip in the radar, a funny anecdote, he never thought he’d be the one still clinging to it. Clinging to their nights together at the farm, back in New York. Solitary nights that he once wished they’d both forget about, now he couldn’t stop wishing for their return.</p>
<p>Maybe Chrissie’s cousin could fill that hole, he thought as he listened to her snore. Maybe he could rummage through he bag and find her license, figure out her name, he’d already asked her for it too many times, and she could come fill the emptiness in his house. He twirled a poorly curled ringlet of her poorly kept hair and sighed when it fell limply out of his grip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roger could just barely remember a time when encores weren’t a given. When the crowd didn’t always love them, when they disappeared backstage and all held their breath to be sure they ought to go back out. But that was a rarity these days. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would be a rarity but for now he enjoyed bounding back on stage to the roar of a crowd that were desperate for them all to start it back up.</p>
<p>He pounded out the beat on his drums and could feel the vibrations of John’s bass even when he couldn’t hear the notes. He grinned up at John who looked impressed by what he was doing, nothing terribly intricate but he moved about the kit with fluid enough motions that John nearly slipped up while he watched him from over his cymbals. He heard Freddie egg him on over the roar of the crowd and could only respond by upping the ante and playing harder still. An impromptu, short lived solo that got him whistles and cheers when it was over, and a little extra charge in Brian’s guitar to top it all off. Roger panted and tiredly grinned back when Brian shot him a look.</p>
<p>Despite all his fears, his panicking about life as the only loner in the group, things went back to normal once their tour started. It was hell admittedly when Freddie and Paul went on a European vacation and John’s wife popped another baby out. Roger had friends outside of the four of them, but none quite as close. He and Crystal managed a detour to the south of France that kept him away from his old house, but even Crystal couldn’t distract him from his own half-furnished home. Not the way a tour could.</p>
<p>“You’ve got such a love affair with this place,” said Freddie once they were off stage, “every show in New York you fly off the handle.”</p>
<p>“You think?” said Roger, still a little out of breath, still toweling himself off. “I’m really not much for New York,” he let the towel fall across his shoulders, “maybe it’s the subconscious thought about all the potential industry folk that wander around out here.”</p>
<p>“As if we need anymore industry connections,” said John.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you a hot shot,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean it like that,” John laughed and held their dressing room door open. “I only meant that we’re comfortable now, it’s not like we need to be the Beatles.”</p>
<p>“But we <em>could</em> be,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that,” said Roger. “I think we can be Zeppelin.”</p>
<p>“I’m far, <em>far</em> sexier than John Lennon,” said Freddie, already at the mirror, already fiddling with his hair.</p>
<p>Roger undid the zip in the back of Freddie’s leotard for him. “But not Paul.”</p>
<p>“What?” Freddie laughed. “You got an eye for this?”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t everybody?” Roger laughed, though his was more tense than Freddie’s.</p>
<p>“I don’t,” said John with a snigger.</p>
<p>“Oh sure you do,” Roger rolled his eyes. “It’s an objective thing. For example, objectively, I’m the best looking of us four,” he added with a smirk, waiting for Freddie to swat him, which he did from the confines of his half-off leotard.</p>
<p>“I guess if I had to objectively decide I could give an answer,” John said behind a laugh he just barely contained, “but I wouldn’t have the answer ready that quick.”</p>
<p>“You caught me,” said Roger, unsure why his cheeks were heating up, “I’ve got a massive crush on Paul McCartney.”</p>
<p>“Who doesn’t,” added Brian with a smirk.</p>
<p>“You’d all go for Paul?” Freddie sucked his teeth.</p>
<p>“I never answered!” said John.</p>
<p>“Yes darling we know you’re straight,” Freddie groaned. “But clearly George is the prettiest.”</p>
<p>“Anyone but Ringo,” said Brian quietly.</p>
<p>“Why are we talking about this?” said John, more giggly and confused than before.</p>
<p>“You started it,” said Freddie as accusatory as could be, “with all you’re talk about how we’re not as sexy as the Beatles.”</p>
<p>John just rolled his eyes and shook the conversation off in favour of finding the clothes he’d worn into the venue. Roger was glad to have the topic dropped. He knew himself well, knew his own proclivities but he hadn’t liked the way John looked at him, after a joke, a small comment, like he was some queer for that. It’d defeat his own point to bring the conversation to a halt again just to get defensive over a flash of embarrassment. But still, he knew he’d be chewing on that the rest of the night if he didn’t find a distraction.</p>
<p>“So where’re we off too after this?” said John.</p>
<p>“Paul’s got some place I’ll apparently <em>adore</em>,” Freddie spritzed his hair with the hairspray left there.</p>
<p>“Would I also adore it?” said John sounding like he knew the answer.</p>
<p>“Considering how avid you were about not naming the hottest Beatle, I’d say no, darling,” Freddie teased.</p>
<p>“What about you two?” John looked over to Roger and kicked Brian’s boot to get their attention.</p>
<p>“Hadn’t thought about it,” said Brian with a shrug. “We could just wander until we see something.”</p>
<p>“I think our wandering days are over,” said Freddie. “You three can’t just <em>wander</em> the streets of New York looking for women, you’ll be trampled by the fans coming out of the show—either that or you have the drivers cart you across town.”</p>
<p>John fell into a chair with a deep sigh. “The money’s good but I miss being able to go outside without someone wanting my autograph.”</p>
<p>“I don’t miss it,” said Freddie with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Neither do I,” added Roger.</p>
<p>“But remember how fun the Mott tour was?” said John. “Before Brian nearly died of course.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Brian deadpanned.</p>
<p>“No one gave a shit about us, we could’ve gone anywhere, done anything,” he said, oddly forlorn.</p>
<p>“Yes, and we were staying at a hotel with a two digit nightly rate and zero air conditioning,” said Freddie. “I’ll take my name showing up in papers if it means I can have a hotel room that doesn’t smell so strongly of bleach as if it’s post-murder.”</p>
<p>Roger smirked at Freddie’s comment, not really hearing it, his vision unfocusing as he remembered the Mott tour. Remembered that old club, that woman, that first night in her cramped flat, when Roger’d been so nervous about the whole thing he couldn’t bear to look at Brian. And now…</p>
<p>He looked over at Brian, wondering if he might be thinking the same thing. The guilty look on his face was a good indication he was. Though Roger couldn’t tell how he felt about it now. They hadn’t spoken about it, hadn’t gone over their mixed past together since the wedding. There didn’t seem to be a need to. It wasn’t as if they ever discussed them before, they just happened. With Brian’s marriage though, he assumed they’d just…stop happening. But, maybe, Brian hadn’t assumed the same thing, maybe he’d just been waiting for a tour to start.</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger cleared his throat, “you know it might be fun to go back to that er, that club we went to when we came with Mott.” That was about as clear as Roger could make his intentions without telling the whole room the gory details.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” said Brian quickly, “yeah I think that’d—I’d like to go back.”</p>
<p>“Really?” John huffed. “That place had such strange people.”</p>
<p>“So what—the stranger, the better,” said Roger, as if he cared about the people in there. As if he cared who he found so long as they wedged themselves between him and Brian for the night.</p>
<p>“For nostalgia’s sake,” said John with a defeated shrug.</p>
<p>Roger looked back to Brian, saw a faint blush spread across his cheeks, and felt his stomach turn over with a strange mix of excitement and dread almost. Anxiety with no name and intense desire that made him rush getting dressed, made him rush getting everyone out to the cars, made him rush the driver.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>None of them could quite remember the name but they remembered the look, the general vicinity of the place, and eventually they found it. It looked just as it had their last visit, those three, nearly four years ago. The same neon sign with lettering Roger still couldn’t read, the same odd clientele drifting in and out, the same thrumming music and red light emanating from the inside.</p>
<p>“God, it really hasn’t changed,” said John. “I thought nothing lasted more than a few months in this city.”</p>
<p>“Must be a cultural staple,” said Roger with a laugh, his eyes tracing the strange people headed the same direction as them.</p>
<p>“I wonder if the people are the same,” said Brian, glancing in Roger’s direction quick and shy.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roger mumbled, “I wonder.” He hadn’t considered she might be back, hadn’t considered he might ever see her again, but quite quickly he was desperate to see her face again. She was the only woman who understood it, the only one Roger could think of anyway. Their sole attempt without her had gone so wrong it ended with a handjob in an empty field. The odds were slim but not zero.</p>
<p>After hurrying past the steps inside, wandering blindly into the red light and borderline dissonant music, Roger made his way to the bar, John and Brian close behind and ordering with him as if he might pay for all three. Roger made a point of paying just for his and pocketing the change before the bartender had begun making up John’s odd cocktail or Brian’s martini.</p>
<p>On any other night Roger might’ve teased Brian for choosing the same drink as an aging debutante, might’ve teased John for ordering something that came with it’s own straw, might’ve sat at the bar with them while they each got their first drink down and laughed with each other over the loud music. But right then, Roger sat perched on a barstool, focused entirely on scanning the room.</p>
<p>He realised he was looking for her blonde hair, her face no longer burned in his memory how he thought it might be. But her hair the first time they met was a horrible dye job. One that left Roger wondering how it hadn’t sloughed off in clumps when she rinsed the bleach out. There was a good chance she’d learned from her mistakes, a good chance she wasn’t even blonde anymore. A good chance the only feature he remembered clearly wasn’t there anymore. An even better chance that she wasn’t there anymore.</p>
<p>“There’s no way,” said Brian, leant awkwardly against the bar next to him.</p>
<p>“No way what?” said Roger.</p>
<p>“I know you’re looking for her,” said Brian. Roger whipped over to his left side, ready to fill John in with a fake story but found the stool next to him empty, and a quick look on the dance floor saw John dancing close with a short girl with chopped off hair. “There’s just no way we’d find her again.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger sighed, “it’s worth looking isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“It’s worth looking for <em>someone</em>,” said Brian, a little quieter, “but it won’t be like the farm.”</p>
<p>“What’d’you mean?” Roger clenched his whiskey glass a little tighter, grounding himself a little more to the moment. It was a hard thing to do what with the red light, the loud music, the whiskey, the open conversation about things that were normally only communicated through looks and thoughts they hoped they shared.</p>
<p>“I mean the girl at the farm was a country girl. A New Yorker isn’t going to,” he sipped his martini, just like an old lady, “isn’t going to flinch at this sort of thing.”</p>
<p>“You think?” Roger looked up at him like his answer meant something. Like Brian might actually know the proclivities of the average New York woman.</p>
<p>“I think it’s fair to say there’s a reason we met her here,” Brian gestured subtly to the outlandish crowd. “I don’t think it was chance that a woman so hellbent on threesomes came here every night.”</p>
<p>“I hope you’re right,” said Roger. He ordered another whiskey.</p>
<p>John made off with the woman he’d started on. He said a quick goodbye to Roger and Brian on his way out and made no mention of the way they were huddled by a standing bar table together, talking to no one, not even each other.</p>
<p>Roger couldn’t find a single word he wanted to say. Many he wished he could. Lots about Chrissie, about how his marriage was working, though he figured he had a clue about that considering where they were, what they were hoping to do. He wanted to ask if Brian thought about it the way Roger did. If the memories of their brief meetings made his stomach drop and his heart pound in ways that Chrissie, or indeed her cousin, just couldn’t satisfy. He wanted to know if Brian ever told her, if she ever found out what they’d done, and if she understood it didn’t mean anything outside of the thrill. He wanted to ask, or rather tell and hope Brian agreed that this was for the thrill, for the odd and specific sensation, not for each other. Roger would never cross the line into doing this for each other, and though part of him wanted to make sure Brian felt the same, another part, deep somewhere he didn’t care to look, was afraid that yes, Brian was only looking for a thrill.</p>
<p>“We can’t expect another one to just walk up to us,” said Brian after a prolonged stretch of neither of them talking or making an attempt to talk.</p>
<p>“How do we know which one’s’ll be up for it,” said Roger, scanning the room for the few more normal looking women, the few women without shaved heads and translucent plastic dresses.</p>
<p>“If they’re here they’re up for it,” said Brian with a laugh. He took another sip off of his third cocktail. Roger wasn’t sure what it was called, another house special that looked ridiculous.</p>
<p>“I’d be so easy if she were here,” said Roger, realising quite suddenly, he wasn’t sure of her name either.</p>
<p>“What are the odds of her coming back here,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Same as the odds of us coming back,” said Roger. He scanned the room again, making sure he hadn’t somehow missed her in the ether of the crowds coming in and out. Though, he couldn’t really know if he’d missed her. He knew he hair colour maybe, her body, and could just barely remember her turned up nose on the very edge of his memory. She could’ve come and gone and said nothing.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Brian reached across the table, clutched Roger’s wrist, “is that her?”</p>
<p>Roger looked where Brian nodded, the far corner by the door. It was hard to tell in the light, and Roger’s eyesight didn’t make it any easier, but it looked like her. Looked like her tiny waist and wide hips. Her hair was shorter, darker too, but it could well be her.</p>
<p>“No way,” said Roger quietly, more disbelief than denial. That feeling only growing when she spotted them across the room and waved.</p>
<p>“It is,” said Brian, squeezing Roger’s wrist one more time before letting go entirely. The closer she got the more her face became familiar.</p>
<p>Her turned up nose, her big round eyes, her defined jaw and pillowy lips. Roger wondered how he ever forgot a face as distractingly beautiful as hers. She shoved her way past the crowd, a grin on her face, and hurried up to their table.</p>
<p>“I knew it,” she said, her eyes flashed a bright silver when she blinked, though in the red light Roger knew it must be pink.</p>
<p>“What’d you know?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“That you’d be here,” she said.</p>
<p>“How’d you know that?” said Roger. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was there, she remembered them, she wanted to see them, she could help them.</p>
<p>“I live a block away now,” she said, she flicked her hair back over her shoulder, but it was too short now to stay put. “I knew you were playing here tonight and—last time I checked this place when Queen was in town nothing came of it but I saw your big flashy towncar circle the block so I…” she gestured to her skin tight dress.</p>
<p>“You look even better than I remember,” said Brian. Roger rolled his eyes at the juvenile compliment but the woman thanked him, kissed his cheek and stole a sip off his drink.</p>
<p>“You two look just how I remember you,” she laughed, “deer in the headlights.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t expect to actually find you, that’s all,” said Roger, trying to laugh off some of the shock on his face.</p>
<p>“So you were looking?” she said. Roger just nodded. Brian mumbled something but it was too quiet for Roger to hear, almost too quiet for the woman to hear. “Now why would you two be looking for me,” she said with an innocent bat of her eyelashes.</p>
<p>She only asked for one drink before she went back with them. Roger promised their hotel rooms were much nicer this time around, and Brian promised they wouldn’t have to walk all the way there like they’d done last time. But she didn’t seem to mind either way. Not in it for their proximity to fame or money, just the thrill of it, the same way Roger had to believe he was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You weren’t kidding,” said the woman when Roger unlocked his door. She slipped out of her heels and meandered through Roger’s exorbitant suite, letting her fingers run over the furniture, the countertop of the bar, the edge of the telly, the handle on the door out to the balcony. Roger shut the door, locked it with the bolt, with the chain, with the doorknob lock, as if anyone would barge in even if they could. He took the brown paper bag he kept under his arm out, no longer humiliated to be seen with it, and upturned it on the coffee table, letting the lube and cigarettes spill out.</p>
<p>He reached for the cigarettes, hoping to get the cling film off in one motion before Brian could hear him. He slipped his fingertip under the seam in the plastic and coughed to try and cover the distinctive crinkling, but Brian whipped around from the minifridge and glared at him. “I said to wait ’til I’ve gone.”</p>
<p>“Not just <em>one?”</em> said Roger as innocently as he could.</p>
<p>“No, not just one,” said Brian with a grin.</p>
<p>“Your band must be doing pretty well,” said the woman, still at the window, still looking out over their view of the city.</p>
<p>“For now at least,” said Brian. He sidled up to her, offered her a mini bottle of vodka. She thanked him for it and cracked the top off.</p>
<p>“Dunno if I could live like that,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>Roger rifled through the minifridge looking for any small amount of whiskey. Brian wasn’t one for it and as far as he could remember neither was the woman. He wanted to be sure there was nothing single-serve before he cracked open the full sized bottle left for him by the staff. “Live like what?”</p>
<p>“Just, on the fly,” she said with a shrug, turning her attention away from the window and back to the room, Brian still trailing beside her like a lost puppy.</p>
<p>Roger found a bottle of Jim Beam and twisted the top off. “You don’t seem like you’d be afraid of risks.”</p>
<p>“I’m not afraid of risks,” she said, “but your whole life can’t be a risk.” She sipped her vodka, one quick one first then a long glug. “But I guess the risk, or the thrills, once they become common, they’re not just <em>thrills</em> they’re who you are.”</p>
<p>“I er,” Roger bit his cheek, “I dunno, aren’t thrills always thrills?”</p>
<p>“Always thrilling,” she said, downing the last of her bottle, “but there comes a point when it’s your life not a detour from it.” Roger could feel Brian’s eyes on him, could feel him thinking the same thing almost. Could feel him wondering if that applied to them, applied to their nights together. “But—all that to say, y’know it’s a stable risk for you now. Y’know it’s thrilling, but it’s normal, it’s who you are.”</p>
<p>“I—I don’t know if it’s who we are—” began Roger.</p>
<p>“I think it’s still—still just cheap thrills,” added Brian.</p>
<p>She cocked her head, looked between them both, then burst into a laugh. “I meant your music.” She tossed her empty bottle aside. “Ya know your career? How it used to be a big gamble but now you’re<em> in</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger laughed, trying to hide how tense his body still was.</p>
<p>“Still the same,” she sighed, “still so nervous.”</p>
<p>“More money doesn’t mean more confidence,” said Brian a bit shyly. Roger rolled his eyes at his comment. Brian always said the most uncharismatic bullshit to women. It was bad enough hearing bits and pieces of it in bars, but to watch him in action with the woman was just as much torment as he remembered it being.</p>
<p>“Well,” she stood up, shrugged the straps of her dress of her shoulders, reached for the zip and pulled it down, “how do you both want it?”</p>
<p>As ever, Roger started them off. Hurried to her side, slipped her dress down her hips and let it pool at her ankles. He kept his mouth on her’s, his tongue against her’s and let her work on undressing him. She unbuttoned his shirt, he unbuckled his belt, and just as soon as he’d pulled it through the loops, she pulled away and beckoned Brian over. He looked nervous as ever, as if they hadn’t done this before, as if he hadn’t sucked Roger’s cock before.</p>
<p>“You do this,” she mumbled to Roger, her hand on Brian’s chest, her fingertip tracing one of his buttons.</p>
<p>“Why?” he said with a quiet laugh.</p>
<p>“Just do it,” she said with a smirk and an encouraging wink. Roger smirked back and avoided Brian’s gaze as he invaded his space. The woman fell to her knees, tore Brian’s belt open with her teeth and stroked him through his trousers with a heavy hand. Roger pushed one button through the fabric then another then another, then heard Brian sigh, felt the heat of Brian’s cock against his hip, felt the rhythmic motions of the woman’s hand stroking it, but kept his eyes on Brian’s shirt, slowly exposing his bony chest and tanned skin. “Take it off him,” she said, her mouth not yet preoccupied.</p>
<p>Roger glanced up at Brian, maybe asking permission, and ran his hand under the fabric of his open shirt, shrugged it off his shoulders and onto the floor with a few jerky motions.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian hissed, throwing his head back in a way Roger found mesmerizing. But he wouldn’t stare, Brian wasn’t who he was there for.</p>
<p>“Rog,” she whispered, “do you remember how to do this?”</p>
<p>“Do what?” Roger replied.</p>
<p>“Suck,” she said, letting the ‘K’ sit heavy in her throat.</p>
<p>“I,” he glanced back at Brian, unsure what to make of his facial expression, then back down to the woman, “I guess I do.”</p>
<p>She waved him down, urged him onto his knees next to her, and took his hand, reached it up for him to rest on Brian’s cock. “Show me,” she husked in his ear, her hand working his trousers open, pawing at his hardening cock. “The better you do, the better I’ll do,” she added as she slid down, laid across his lap and worked to free his cock, to run her fingertips up the length of it just enough to make him shiver.</p>
<p>Roger sighed at the sight of her and stroked Brian in time with her hand. He didn’t bother looking up, he knew the exact expression of bewilderment and embarrassment he’d see on Brian’s face. An expression that would crack his focus. Instead he took in two deep breaths and shut his eyes tight when he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. The size of it, the heat of it, familiar but still a shock to his system. A shock that was quickly remedied by the woman doing the same to him, circling her tongue around his head and stroking him in time with Roger’s hand on Brian.</p>
<p>Brian whined, ran a hand through Roger’s hair and tugged lightly, not shy in the slightest anymore, not like they had many boundaries left to cross. When the woman made Roger whine, made him hum around Brian’s cock, Brian’s thigh’s shook, trembled under Roger’s grip. And though most of him was trying to squeeze sounds out of Brian in hopes that the woman would do the same to him, a small part of him was trying to upstage Brian. He’d taken Roger to the hilt that night in the pool, Roger was desperate to do the same, to do it better, to win.</p>
<p>He forced himself forward, forced more of Brian into his throat, and pulled away gasping and gagging for air. Brian muttered apologies as if he’d done it, Roger coughed and shook his head.</p>
<p>“Think he got too eager,” the woman said, sitting up from her precarious position on the floor.</p>
<p>“I thought I did,” said Brian, awkwardly palming his spit-slick cock, clearly unsure if he ought to stay where he was or join the two of them on the floor.</p>
<p>Roger cleared his throat, wiped his watering eyes. “Just wanted to win,” he choked out with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Win what?” the woman grinned.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Brian grinned then broke into a laugh.</p>
<p>“What?” the woman repeated with a poke to Roger’s side.</p>
<p>“He er,” Roger’s voice sounded hoarse from his coughing, “he sucked me off and got it all the way in. I just got competitive.”</p>
<p>“Mine’s much bigger,” said Brian with a grin.</p>
<p>“My mouth’s just smaller,” Roger coughed.</p>
<p>“Not this one again,” the woman laughed. She stood, her shorter hair bouncing as she did, and made her way to the mini bar. “So you—you just sucked him off?”</p>
<p>Brian held a hand out for Roger and pulled him to his feet. Roger slipped his feet out of his trouser legs, more awkward than he liked to come off as he nearly toppled over in the process.</p>
<p>“We got locked up in our hotel room by the staff,” said Brian. “Couldn’t sneak out to find you so…”</p>
<p>She stood from the minifridge, a bottle of something in her hand, and grinned like she knew something they didn’t. “Any more stories like that?”</p>
<p>“Just one,” Roger made his way to her side, looking for something else to drink himself. It felt odd to be chitchatting right then, with Brian’s cock still out and Roger’s straining against the waistband of his pants. Felt like they ought to be doing something more fun than small talk. “Tried it on with some country bumpkin and she threw us out.”</p>
<p>“What for?” the woman watched him carefully as he unscrewed the top to another shot and a half of whiskey.</p>
<p>“Didn’t get it,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Thought we were getting too touchy,” said Roger with an eyeroll.</p>
<p>“Were you?” she said with an eyebrow raised. Roger held her gaze for a silent beat then laughed and watched her do the same. The answer obvious no for Roger, though he wondered if was obviously a no for her too. His instinct was to let it lie and pretend they were on the same page, of this whole thing being good fun between two friends and her. But she was the one meant to understand it all, better than the two of them even.</p>
<p>“We weren’t,” said Roger quietly. No one heard him.</p>
<p>“Roger did me a favour and finished me off on the ride home,” said Brian, his words coming out like a teenager admitting to scratching his dad’s car. “When we got stuck together I figured I’d return the favour.” He ended the thought with a laugh.</p>
<p>“You’re not gonna kick us out too are you?” said Roger, more worried she might than he cared to admit.</p>
<p>“Me?” she scoffed, one hand coming to rest dramatically on her chest. “Please, I’m the one that taught you the joys of friendly fire,” she grinned, downed the last of the drink she had, “I’m just glad you’re both starting to see the full potential.”</p>
<p>“You’re the real prize here, darling,” said Roger, assuring her just as much as himself. He took her empty bottle, tossed it in the vicinity of the bin and tugged her waist, brought her closer, kissed her deep enough to earn a moan, and unhooked her bra in one fluid motion. She pulled back, just enough to toss it in Brian’s direction, then hurried out of Roger’s arms and over to the bed.</p>
<p>Much bigger than last time. She wasn’t shy about spreading out and Roger wasn’t shy about joining her. He hopped up on the mattress with her, tumbled with her as she tugged his pants off and he tugged hers off. Roger heard her beckon Brian over, always one to need explicit invitations, but didn’t pay him much mind. He let the woman roll on top of him, straddle his hips, and pin his wrists like she had any strength to hold him. Roger rolled his hips up against her, watched her eyes flutter, and felt the heat of Brian’s meander up onto the bed.</p>
<p>Roger hummed when she took his cock, on quick shift of her hips and she sat comfortably on him like it was easy. He bucked up into her and coaxed her down, coaxed her over him, kissed her soft when Brian pushed a finger in her, then deeper when he added more. She begged for it soon, cried Brian’s name over her shoulder, pleading for the real thing. Roger held his breath waiting for him to give it to her, waiting to feel that hypnotic slide of Brian’s cock.</p>
<p>It’d been so long. So fucking long. He choked on a moan when Brian pushed in, held his breath until he was fully seated and bucked up into the woman when he stilled for too long. He wanted it all right then. Wanted that intense, dull throbbing and thrusting from Brian, the tight heat of the woman, the soft moans from them both, the clawing, the aching for each other. He could hardly stand waiting for the woman to adjust to it. The way she stroked his hair, whispered for him to wait, made him realise how obvious he was with his need. But if there were ever a crowd he didn’t care about hiding his desires from, it was her and Brian.</p>
<p>When she said they could move, Brian pistoned into her. Deep and long strokes that made Roger keen up into the woman. Made him roll his hips a little arhythmically, a little sloppy, made him claw the sheets, clutch the woman, mutter ‘yes’ on a quiet loop with each of Brian’s thrusts. He liked to think if he hadn’t had so much whiskey he might not be so vocal about how good he felt, but part of him knew it was mostly the gap in time since they’d had this, this incredible, unique feeling. One he’d never been able to replicate, one he’d die for.</p>
<p>“Loud as you want, Rog,” she mumbled against his jaw, her lips and tongue lazily dragging across the skin there.</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” was all Roger could manage.</p>
<p>She swore, rolled her hips back to meet Brian more fervently, and Roger heard Brian practically whimper. He wouldn’t open his eyes at the risk of getting a glimpse of Brian with that pained look of pleasure on his face, not now, not like this, not while he could feel exactly what felt so good, not while he felt it too. Mostly because he wanted to. He wanted to watch the way Brian held the woman and panted and how his face contorted while he rubbed his cock deep in the woman, hard against Roger’s. Roger would rather not think about why he wanted to watch him like that. He’d rather close his eyes and just enjoy how it felt.</p>
<p>“How’d you like it even better?” the woman husked in his ear, her words catching on Brian’s thrusts.</p>
<p>“Fuck, yes,” said Roger, unsure how much better it could get, unsure what trick she had up her sleeve, but willing to throw himself into it for the sake of his own pleasure.</p>
<p>“I’m close,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Not yet, not yet,” Roger whined, his fist clutching the sheets as he bucked up into her, trying to catch up to Brian.</p>
<p>“How long’ll it take you to get hard if you come now?” said the woman. Roger cracked his eyes open, looked up at her pathetically, practically begging her not to just let Brian come and end the night when it’d only just begun. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was craned over her shoulder, eyeing Brian.</p>
<p>“Not long,” said Brian through gritted teeth. He moved slower, more careful, one wrong move and it’d be over. “Fuck, I can’t hold it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t,” she hummed, “let go, I’ve got an idea.”</p>
<p>“But, but I…” Roger’s voice trailed off when Brian thrust into her quick and deep, all the coordination of a teenager but all the intensity Roger needed. He let his eyes slip closed just for a moment, just until Brian came, until Roger could feel his cock throbbing against him.</p>
<p>“Didn’t expect it so quick,” said Brian with a gentle roll in and finally out of her. The heat and the tightness Roger was so fond of went with him.</p>
<p>“No apologies,” she said over her shoulder, Roger could tell she meant it. How could she after he’d just brought the night to a screeching halt.</p>
<p>“What about me?” said Roger, bucking his hips, forcing her to remember him. “What’s that idea you mentioned?”</p>
<p>She grinned down at him, bright white teeth and innocent eyes, and rolled him over, wedged herself underneath him and kissed him like she forgot who Brian was. Roger sank back into her, moved in slow, shallow strokes as her tongue worked against his with practiced ease.</p>
<p>“Is this your idea?” he muttered against her lips. He wouldn’t turn down plain missionary sex with her, but it wasn’t the upgrade in pleasure she’d promised.</p>
<p>“Sort of,” she hummed. “Hand me the lube.”</p>
<p>Roger reached across the bed for it, just barely reaching it, and handed it off to her. He couldn’t think of much off the top of his head that she could do with that lube that would surprise him, not much she could do that would be better than the feeling of Brian just on the other side of her walls. But he knew better than to ask. He watched and waited instead. Watched her coat two fingers in the lube, watched her admire the way it shined when she spread her fingers out, and watched her reach down. He pressed into her deeper, wondering where her slick hand might be going, and yelped when she landed on him.</p>
<p>“What’s—what’re you doing?” he said, stammering as her slick finger prodded inside him, just barely, just enough to make his drunken heart pound.</p>
<p>“Yeah—what <em>are</em> you doing?” said Brian, somewhere behind him, sounding just as panicked.</p>
<p>“What’s it look like,” she laughed, her finger moving in deeper.</p>
<p>“I’m not fucking him,” said Brian quickly.</p>
<p>“Right,” said Roger, his voice wavering a bit with the woman’s gentle strokes, “he’s not fucking me.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t ask him to, did I?” said the woman. “But I think, since he’s come so quick, he ought to help you feel good.”</p>
<p>“What’s that mean?” said Brian. His voice sounded a bit closer than it had, he felt closer too. Roger peered over his shoulder and quickly whipped back around when his eye caught Brian’s.</p>
<p>“I mean, you finished while we were still having fun,” she said, pouting her lips, “so it’s only fair that you help poor Roger get off now that you’re done.”</p>
<p>“Get off…get off how?” said Brian.</p>
<p>“We’re not like that,” said Roger, though his subtle groan when the woman added a second finger undercut whatever point he’d hoped to make.</p>
<p>“You can suck each other off but a few fingers is too much?” she sucked her teeth. “You’ve been in Britain too long,” she teased, “that English prudishness is coming back.”</p>
<p>Roger sighed, tried to hide any outward signs that the woman’s fingers felt good, but there was no disguising the way he rocked back onto them, then forward into her just as eagerly.</p>
<p>“C’mon, Brian, it’s the least you could do,” she said, sliding her fingers out. Roger clenched his jaw to quiet a whine and thrust deeper into her, as if that somehow proved that he didn’t want it.</p>
<p>“Would…” Brian’s hand came to rest on Roger’s hip, he glanced over his shoulder, not caring how red his face was when he caught Brian’s eye, “would you want me to?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Roger. Not a no.</p>
<p>“No harm in trying, is there?” said the woman, her voice getting lost in the white noise filling Roger’s ears as stared back at Brian over his shoulder. His expression entirely unreadable but his fingertips gently massaging Roger’s hip.</p>
<p>“Pass the er, the lube,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Attaboy!” said the woman with a giggle as she handed off the bottle of lube. Roger kept his eyes on Brian, watched how he coated his fingers, how carefully he made sure they’d be slick enough. But the instant Brian set the bottle aside, Roger turned his focus back on the woman. He thrust into her as deep as he could, kissed her the same way, and pretended it was her fingers gently rocking in and out of him.</p>
<p>Freddie had, long ago, told him how good it felt from the inside. Roger had never been brave or curious enough to try it himself. He knew women liked the feeling and knew he liked giving it to them. The time it took to figure out how to give himself that same feeling never felt worth it. And at first, when Brian’s fingers burned and pressed into him too randomly, too unsure, he figured Freddiie’d been lying, or at very least exaggerating the intensity of that feeling.</p>
<p>Then the burn went away and Brian added a third finger. More confident in the way he moved them inside Roger by then, hooking up into him like he might do with a woman, but it was coordinated enough to feel, not good, but not painful, just new.</p>
<p>“Press towards me,” the woman said.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Roger groaned into her neck. If she’d said something before that he never would’ve heard her. Too focused on the strange burn of Brian’s fingers mixing with the pleasure of his uncoordinated thrusting inside her. But he soon realised the instructions weren’t for him as Brian twisted his hand, worked it slowly over until his fingers curled up into Roger’s body, toward his center rather than his back. He pressed his fingers deep into him then, rocked them out slowly, and pushed them back in with a heavy pressure against Roger. One that made him whine in a voice higher than he’d ever heard from himself.</p>
<p>It felt good in a way he couldn’t describe, in a way he hadn’t felt before. Like Brian was pressing on nerve endings he hadn’t known existed until that moment. It wasn’t the intense, immediate, overwhelming pleasure Freddie promised it would be. But it was good enough to make him press most of his weight against the woman, good enough to make him rock into her aimlessly and rock back toward Brian with purpose.</p>
<p>“Is, is that—is that okay?” said Brian, his free hand hesitating when it held Roger’s thigh.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” Roger gulped out. He squeezed his eyes shut, “yes, just do it more.”</p>
<p>“He means harder,” said the woman, “press harder, it’ll feel better.”</p>
<p>Brian obliged. The woman was right. It felt good enough to steal the air from his lungs, good enough to make him whimper and rock back again. And again. And again and again. Never getting deep enough, never getting to that point he could just barely feel the edge of. He panted, groaned like an animal in heat, and worked forwards into the woman, backwards into Brian, trying to use the two of them to find the sweet spot of pleasure. Normally it built up in the pit of his stomach and through his cock. But this, this pleasure came from somewhere much deeper, somewhere much more elusive, somewhere much harder for him to get to, but, fuck, he was just about there, almost fucking there.</p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck,” he whined, “fuck make it better.”</p>
<p>“Make it better?” said Brian, pushing in deeper, blindly hoping that was what Roger meant. Maybe it was. Roger didn’t know what he needed anymore than Brian did.</p>
<p>“I think he needs something more substantial than fingers,” said the woman.</p>
<p>“No, no,” said Roger through his haze, “no we don’t do that.”</p>
<p>“He’s right,” Brian’s hand stopped moving but didn’t leave Roger.</p>
<p>“Boys don’t you trust me by now?” she said, looking up at Roger, then past him to Brian. “This doesn’t change anything, it just feels good. Feels damn good.”</p>
<p>“But it…” began Brian, his fingers moving just a bit, “it’s…crossing a line.”</p>
<p>“You make the lines,” she said. Her hand ran up and down Roger’s side, comforting him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. “When it’s three people, lines move around, they get blurred or forgotten altogether.” She sighed and shifted under Roger, moved her hips just enough to give her some relief for the beginnings of an orgasm that were no doubt leaving her as they all three sat still.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Brian hooked his fingers in Roger, almost daring him to make a sound.</p>
<p>“That was what you both said about sharing the first time,” said the woman with a smirk, “you don’t think that’s weird do you?” Roger shook his head, not really caring that her question didn’t need an answer. “Have I ever led you astray?” Roger shook his head again and did all he could not to rock back onto Brian’s fingers.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” said Brian. It took Roger a moment to realise he was talking to him. He looked over his shoulder at Brian’s poor confused face and stayed silent.</p>
<p>“I…I don’t know,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“It’s not as complex as this,” she said. Roger turned back to her, eager for an explanation on why he was overthinking it, why he should be allowed to just have that pleasure Brian was so close to getting out of him. “Pussy’s good, but it’s even better like this. And I know Brian can already tell you’re tighter than me. Don’t think about whatever social mores we’re overstepping, just think about how good it’ll feel.” She rolled her hips up into Roger to punctuate the thought. “Both of you, just think about the feeling.”</p>
<p>Roger stared down at her, clenching his jaw and holding his breath as his stomach dropped, as he internally admitted he wanted it. And, God, he might actually get it.</p>
<p>That ‘might’ turned into a ‘definitely’ when he felt Brian settle his knees on either side of Roger’s. He swore under his breath when he felt Brian’s cock against his skin, and buried his face in the woman’s neck in the pillow underneath her when Brian slipped in. Wordlessly and awkwardly. His movement too shaky and hesitant to be anything but awkward. He pressed one thumb deep into Roger’s lower back, as if trying to quell the pain he knew he must be causing, the pain Roger made no attempt to cover up with his stunted groaning.</p>
<p>“It’s only at first,” the woman assured them both. “It fades.”</p>
<p>Roger couldn’t bear looking back and seeing where they connected or Brian’s face. He focused his attention on the woman. Stroked her hair, kissed her neck, tried to catch his breath as he fucked into her and Brian fucked into him. The pain was all he could feel at first, the burning, stretching feeling that was altogether unpleasant almost had him soft inside the woman. He gripped the sheets, fucked into her blindly to stop that happening, and kept his jaw clenched tight as Brian moved.</p>
<p>But his choked groans of pain didn’t last. The burning, the stinging didn’t last. They didn’t leave him totally, but that deep, addictive feeling that Brian had just barely broached with his fingers, came back in full swing with one pump of Brian’s cock. Roger practically screamed. Loud and ambiguous enough that Brian stilled at first and muttered apologies for hurting him. Roger muttered a quiet ‘it doesn’t hurt’ and panted into the sheets hoping Brian heard, hoping he’d go deep like that again. The woman hummed at the way Roger moved in her and whined for more, for deeper. Roger couldn’t help feel overwhelmed at that request, but he tried to meet it, tried to rut into her how she asked for it, but could only keep it up for short bursts before his focus had to go back into ignoring the pain and chasing that deeply rooted pleasure radiating inside him.</p>
<p>“Faster, Rog,” the woman moaned. The way she tightened up meant she was close, though Roger couldn’t remember doing anything to get her there really, other than rolling into her on the back of Brian’s thrusts. “Fuck.” She clawed his back as she tightened around him over and over again. Roger shivered at the feeling. Her pussy squeezing his cock, mixed with the way Brian kept plunging in and out of him, running over that spot each time, it got to be too much. He rocked into her once more before his arms gave out and all of his weight fell on her. She paid it no mind just stroked his hair and sighed at the residual thrusts he pumped into her as Brian kept on. “Good from both sides like this isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Roger whined pathetically. She teased him for it but he was too far gone to really hear her. He’d never been a slave to his own body this way, never been so preoccupied with how good something felt that he didn’t care to put on a good show for the woman, didn’t care that it was Brian giving it to him up the arse that was doing it. Maybe that was the whiskey talking, but maybe it was actually just that good. “Fuck, fuck.” He uselessly rocked into her.</p>
<p>She laughed and rolled out from under him, no easy feat. He didn’t fight her on it, and buried his face in the sweat-soaked sheets when she finally wriggled out from under his weight.</p>
<p>“Harder,” she told Brian. Brian listened and Roger moaned in a deep, hoarse voice that resonated in his bones. The woman just sighed and reached for Roger’s cock, stroked him and teased him for how much he was leaking. He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything except move his hips back onto Brian’s cock, desperate for him to get deeper than he was.</p>
<p>“Here, here, flip over,” the woman said.</p>
<p>“What?” Roger groaned, his cheek still pressed firmly against the sheets.</p>
<p>“On your back,” she said, playfully shoving his side to give him the idea. “He can go deeper.”</p>
<p>That was all Roger needed to hear. He moved slowly at first, to warn Brian, before falling on his side and rolling on his back.</p>
<p>“There we go,” the woman said, her hand already back on his cock, stroking him heavy and quick. “Don’t keep him waiting,” she said over her shoulder to Brian.</p>
<p>Roger couldn’t watch this part. The way Brian moved up between his legs like it was normal, the way he pushed into him, the way he looked when he did it. It wasn’t something Roger wanted to see, wasn’t something he thought he’d ever be able to forget, a sight he feared he might get addicted to. So he closed his eyes and whined Brian’s name as he sank in, a little deeper than before.</p>
<p>“That’s the way,” the woman whispered, her and stroking just a bit faster than Brian was moving.</p>
<p>“God—fuck,” Brian groaned. Roger felt his hand move hesitantly over Roger’s thigh, like he wasn’t allowed to touch him there. Roger wished he could’ve said something to the effect of ‘you’re cock’s in me, touch wherever you like’, but he was far past the point of coherent sentences, far past the point of coherent thought, focused entirely on how incredible his entire body felt, how electric their touches felt, how deep it was.</p>
<p>“Ah, ah,” was Roger’s only warning that he might come. It was all he could manage. His sweaty thighs moved against Brian’s hips, tightened around him, and the woman’s stroking sped up. He gripped the sheets, gripped the woman’s waist somewhere next to him, and panted like he’d just finished a marathon. “Fuck, fuck it’s a lot,” he said. The best he could describe it. A lot of sensation, all at once, about to wash over him in a way he knew he’d never felt before. “It’s too much.”</p>
<p>“No it’s not,” said the woman in a soothing voice, “just feel it.”</p>
<p>And he did. He cried out some noise that sounded like Brian’s name but could’ve been anything else. And he seized up and arched off the bed like he was possessed. And it kept coming. With each slight movement of Brian’s cock, or the woman’s hand, more of that intense, deep pleasure crashed over him. Not oversensitivity yet, but certainly enough to make him forget who he was and who might be able to hear him.</p>
<p>Brian came then too Roger figured. His only indication being the come that made it’s way onto Roger’s thigh seconds, or maybe hours, after Roger painted his own chest.</p>
<p>He panted still, like he had any chance of catching his breath, and let his eyes open, just a bit, just enough to let some light in. He looked to his side, looked up at the woman, blinked through his panting, and tried to smile when she grinned down at him.</p>
<p>“Let me get you a washcloth,” she said. Roger just nodded and watched her slink of the bed, up off the mattress and around Brian. Still between Roger’s legs, still awkwardly clinging to his thighs, and panting just as bad.</p>
<p>He looked up at him, up to his face, felt like he hadn’t seen him in ages. He eyed the exhausted but satisfied look on his face, and when Brian’s eyes met his he was tempted to look away like he’d been doing all night. But he held his gaze through his heavily lidded eyes, and said nothing, and was sure nothing was clear on his face. Because nothing was clear in his mind. His feelings about it still up in the air with his calm breathing and his sense of embarrassment at being spread open so fully for the two of them.</p>
<p>Brian looked down at him like he might speak, but just pushed his sweaty curls back and let go of Roger’s legs, looking guilty when he did. Roger laid still, eyeing Brian like a lab rat, curious about what he might do next, what that might mean.</p>
<p>“Here we are,” the woman said, striding back in from the bathroom. She flopped a warm, wet flannel on Roger’s stomach, and would’ve cleaned him up had Roger not reached for the flannel himself. He figured he might restore a little dignity in this. He wiped his stomach off, sat up to do it and grimaced at the way the liquid pooled down his skin when he did.</p>
<p>“Here, let me,” said Brian, once Roger got to his thigh. He ripped the flannel from Roger’s hand and scrubbed off the mess he’d made on his thigh, as if Roger would hold that against him.</p>
<p>The woman flicked off the remainder of the lights then. When she pulled back the top corner of the sheets, no one said a word as they climbed inside. Roger in the middle, Brian at his side, lying on his back staring straight up at the ceiling the same was Roger was. As if lying very still and very stiff might mean they’d wake up the next morning and nothing bad would’ve happened.</p>
<p>Brian eventually stared snoring. Roger couldn’t help but feel jealous at how soundly he appeared to be sleeping. Even with the whiskey still lingering in his blood, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling, the odd pit of guilt in his stomach that kept him staring up at the ceiling like he didn’t deserve to sleep.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” the woman said in a sleepy voice next to him.</p>
<p>“I will,” said Roger under his breath.</p>
<p>She sighed and draped an arm across his middle. “You’re overthinking.”</p>
<p>“No I’m not,” lied Roger.</p>
<p>“It felt good, that’s all you need to know,” she said, “and…if there’s more to it, that’s fine too.”</p>
<p>“There’s not more to it,” snapped Roger. “It was…for you. A show for you. It doesn’t count when you’re here.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” she said quietly, nestling in closer, “but it’s not a bad thing.”</p>
<p>“I know it’s not,” Roger spat through a tight jaw. “But it’s not us. You know that better than anyone—all this is just for…for…” his words trailed off along with the confidence behind them.</p>
<p>“Get some sleep, Roger,” she replied, not bothering to entertain or argue with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roger woke to a dark room, to a face full of black curls, and a lingeringly warm spot on his left side where the woman once slept. He sat up slowly and eyed the bathroom but saw the light was still out under the door. He called her name in the quiet of the room and heard nothing in reply. The moon still shining outside told him it hadn’t been long since he fell asleep, or at least not long enough for the sun to come up.</p>
<p>He fell back into the mattress, rested a hand against the warm sheets she left behind, and looked back at Brian, at his sleeping, calm face, at his totally unworried brow. He turned on his side, reached up for his curls, brushed them from his face as best he could, and ran his thumb across Brian’s forehead, down his nose, across his cheek, down his jaw. Just looking at him, just lying with him, just getting a sense for him in a closer light than they ever were, staring at Brian like he might learn something from his sleeping form.</p>
<p>“Wha’’re you d’’ng,” said Brian, not quite awake yet.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Roger whispered, ripping his hand away from Brian’s cheek in a hurry. “Go back to sleep,” he added, slowly rolling away from Brian back onto his back.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Brian took a deep breath in, blinked his eyes open and looked at Roger. Then past Roger at the empty spot next to him. “Is she in the bathroom?”</p>
<p>“She left,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Mm,” said Brian, totally unfazed or sleepy, Roger couldn’t tell. “Too much for her too?”</p>
<p>“No, I…well,” Roger had hoped to easily refute that but given the circumstances he couldn’t know for sure, “I don’t think so…she said it was okay.”</p>
<p>“Is it okay?” said Brian, rubbing some of the sleepiness out of his face while he spoke.</p>
<p>“It is,” said Roger, “it has to be.”</p>
<p>“Those aren’t the same,” said Brian, a yawn creeping up on the tail end of his words.</p>
<p>“They can be,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“But they aren’t,” said Brian. He looked at Roger intensely, Roger looked back with what he hoped was a neutral expression, to match his nebulous and uncertain feelings. “Do you want me to go?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Roger much too quickly. Then quieter, “maybe.” He shook his head. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Brian with a tense laugh. “It’s easier to tell when she’s here.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” said Roger noncommittally, “maybe we just need sleep.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” said Brian. He eyed Roger with a softer expression and reached his leg over Roger’s under the sheets, shifted that little bit closer, and hummed when he could grind against Roger’s hip.</p>
<p>“The fuck are you doing?” Roger spat, making no effort to stop him.</p>
<p>“What’d’you mean?” Brian sighed.</p>
<p>“I mean she’s not fucking here, faggot,” spat Roger. Brian froze, his face flooded with shock, or embarrassment, maybe even guilt as he slowly pulled his leg off Roger’s hip and inched back away from him.</p>
<p>“I thought—” Brian began after a painful silence.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter,” Roger interrupted quickly. He didn’t care to hear Brian’s explanation for it, Brian’s reasoning for why they were allowed to do something like that with no pretense of getting even or the woman being in the room. It wasn’t fair that he should just assume he could dive right into what he wanted without excuses and qualifiers. Roger rolled over on his side, faced his back to Brian, but put no more space between them. “We need sleep,” he said one more time.</p>
<p>“Yeah we do,” Brian mumbled.</p>
<p>Roger closed his eyes, and pretended he didn’t notice when Brian rolled over on him, pretend he didn’t notice the way his lips grazed his shoulders, the way his arms wrapped around him so gently, so full of…not love but…but something, something that Roger found hard to ignore.</p>
<p>Hard to ignore right then, in the raw aftermath of the night. Much easier to ignore the next morning. When he woke then, to a face full of Brian’s curls, he laughed it off, made some jokey comments about how sore he was and before Brian could dare get into any of the depth behind it, he shut himself in the bathroom and turned the shower on. He hoped if he showered long enough Brian would just leave. And he did.</p>
<p>And when Roger saw him in the hotel lobby, ready to head to the airport, he smiled like nothing happened, and Brian smiled back in the same way.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!! Sorry for the delay, this chapter took me a long while to make up and honestly I'm not sure why haha!! But it does clock in at a little over 13k so hopefully that makes up for the wait! Thank you everyone who's stuck with this and everyone who keeps commenting, I do love reading each one ! If you like this chapter please comment &lt;333</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Freddie ran his hands through Roger’s hair, steadied on either side of his head and tugging straight out. He sat on his coffee table, in front of Roger, looking at him like a mother inspecting the scuffs on his cheeks after a fight.</p>
<p>“Not too hard,” Roger swatted, “I’ve only got so much.”</p>
<p>“Why’d you cut it all off if you wanted more hair?” Freddie said, not looking Roger in the eye, instead looking at his hair like it was the eighth wonder of the world now tarnished beyond repair.</p>
<p>Roger wasn’t sure why he thought he could show up to lunch with Freddie after lopping his hair off without it becoming the main topic of conversation, but he’d hoped it’d go unnoticed.</p>
<p>“Needed a change,” Roger said with a shrug. “You and John cut your hair.”</p>
<p>“Yes but yours was so lovely,” Freddie said with a pout, one hand still threaded through Roger’s locks like a strong grip might lengthen them. Roger grinned and reached a hand up to cover Freddie’s, he slowly guided his fingers away from his shorter hair and back towards Freddie’s chest. “Well,” Freddie said, looking forlornly still at Roger’s head before he turned to Brian, “you’ll never cut your hair will you?”</p>
<p>“No, it’d look silly any shorter than this,” Brian said with a grin.</p>
<p>Roger glanced over at him, sitting on the opposite couch in Freddie’s little living room, looking over at Freddie with a thousand watt grin that Roger couldn’t stare too long at.</p>
<p>“Frankly I’m a little offended you weren’t this upset when I cut my hair off,” said John, sat on Roger’s right.</p>
<p>“Your hair was lovely too,” said Freddie, though it didn’t sound convincing. John only laughed, not concerned really with what anyone thought of his hair, “but Roger’s was so…”</p>
<p>“Y’know I do grow it for free,” Roger said, “it’ll come back eventually.”</p>
<p>“I suppose,” Freddie sighed. “When did you cut it?”</p>
<p>“Er, a week ago maybe?” Roger offered. Truthfully he didn’t know. It was a haircut he didn’t like to think too hard about and hadn’t had to think too hard about until Freddie practically burst into tears at the sight of it.</p>
<p>It’d been so quick so hazy, if he didn’t have the proof he’d doubt it happened at all. He’d been in his house, his big empty cavernous house, and he’d been with a maid, some maid who was too young for him but open enough to sleep with him once or twice, he couldn’t remember that detail either. What he did remember was waking up after accidentally nodding off next to her and feeling like his chest had caved in. And when he fired her, frantically kicked her out of his room, he searched desperately for comfort and relief from that awful sinking feeling that only got worse the more alone he realised himself to be.</p>
<p>He couldn’t call Freddie, couldn’t beg him to come over and make his house a home. Freddie had Paul, had his swaths of other friends he met here and there. John had a family to hold together, he couldn’t bother spending a bachelors night with Roger. And he couldn’t call Brian. He had Chrissie, he had other obligations that didn’t include Roger, but mostly Roger stopped himself dialing that number because he didn’t want a deep conversation between the two of them. They’d avoided delving into each other’s emotions ever since New York, and Roger wouldn’t dredge it up just to curb his desire for <em>someone</em>. For someone to be his, for someone to belong to, for someone to make him feel less solitary. For someone to explain why the maid didn’t cut it, why the strange women he brought home always forced him to kick them out, always made him feel worse than he’d ever felt, night after night.</p>
<p>He remembered crying then, remembered throwing a few things he could lift, and remembered feeling a desperate need to change something, anything. To grab hold of his life and prove to it he was in control. So in that sense he hadn’t lied to Freddie. The haircut was born of a need for change. He could just leave out the kitchen shears he used to haphazardly lop away at his long blond hair until he was left with something the barber had only just barely been able to make wearable.</p>
<p>“I think it suits you,” said Brian.</p>
<p>“Do you think my haircut suits me?” John said.</p>
<p>“No it looks horrendous on you,” Brian said in a flat voice.</p>
<p>“Be nice to poor Johnny,” said Freddie.</p>
<p>“Johnny?” said the three of them in unison, all looking at Freddie like he’d grown a second head.</p>
<p>Freddie just shrugged. “Just testing it out.”</p>
<p>“Test it back in,” said John with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Now that we’re done mourning Roger’s hair, can we talk about the album,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“We haven’t eaten yet,” Freddie grumbled.</p>
<p>“What’s that got to do with it?” John snickered.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Freddie groaned, big and overdramatic, and stood, paced in front of the hearth of his fireplace. “Y’know I hated it at first but I think Roger was right about stripping off the harmonies.”</p>
<p>“Ah ah,” Roger sat up, cupped a hand around his ear, “can I hear that once more Fred?”</p>
<p>“No, and if you ask again I’ll quit,” said Freddie with a smirk. “I’ve got a slow song, just piano—might need some drums but it’s essentially just piano, if you three old ladies would like to hear it.”</p>
<p>“Have at it,” said Brian.</p>
<p>Freddie took to his piano, a baby grand he’d bought after their first real success with Killer Queen. Not the most expensive piano in his townhouse but as far as Roger could tell it was his favourite. And though the song was lovely, if a little unpolished, Roger’s mind was stuck on his own hair. His short hair that he couldn’t stop threading his fingers through. He wondered if maybe they could all tell, could sense the loneliness on him, could sense how lost he felt, could see a jagged edge of kitchen-sheared hair that the barber hadn’t cleaned up.</p>
<p>The lunch Freddie’s cook brought them out was a good enough distraction, sharing his ideas and the one demo he’d recorded for the new album kept his mind moving, but it was tasking to stay present in the room when he wasn’t speaking. His hands kept drifting up to his hair like he might be able to hide whatever it was they could see. Normally around Freddie, around John, around Brian especially, he didn’t mind that feeling of transparency that came with years of friendship and life spent together. But these days he’d much rather go unseen. And for once in his life he felt relief to be saying goodbye to the three of them as lunch drew to a close and John said something about helping Veronica with the kids that prompted them all to head for the door.</p>
<p>“See you all in the studio next week, bright and early,” Freddie shouted from his door.</p>
<p>“Since when do you get anywhere bright and early?” John laughed.</p>
<p>“One more jab like that and I’ll tell Veronica about our torrid love affair,” Freddie shouted back.</p>
<p>“Our what?!” John scoffed as Freddie slammed the door.</p>
<p>“Is he serious?” Roger asked, only to rile John up a bit.</p>
<p>“Of—of course he’s not serious,” John groaned, “that’s not funny.”</p>
<p>“You should see how red your face is though,” Brian sniggered, “it’s a bit funny.”</p>
<p>“Just for that, I’m not offering either of you a ride home,” John said as he searched his pockets for his keys.</p>
<p>“I drove,” Roger said smugly.</p>
<p>“And I can ride home with Roger,” said Brian, inviting himself.</p>
<p>“Oh can you?” Roger laughed. “Since when.”</p>
<p>“Since now,” Brian said. John started down the road, down to where he’d street-parked his car, and waved at them blankly before hopping in and pulling away. “And now I’ve got no options.”</p>
<p>“I expect to be reimbursed for the petrol,” Roger said with a laugh and gritted teeth. Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend time laughing with Brian, he seemed to crave it more now that their time together was spent staying far, far away from the elephant in the room. Their conversation was surface level and dry in the way it’d been when they first met and weren’t totally sure about the other just yet. It didn’t satisfy him, made him desperate for more time of that fake chatter as if it might one day simulate a real conversation.</p>
<p>But right then he was keen to go home, back to his empty house with his brand new maid who he hadn’t learned the name of yet. Keen to sit alone in his living room fiddling with the guitar, fiddling with the keyboard, or just locked up in his room under the pretense with the staff of reading. Though he was sure by now his maid, and his chef, knew he wasn’t doing much else other than lying on his bed.</p>
<p>“The hair does look good,” Brian said as Roger unlocked his car doors.</p>
<p>“Oh, er,” he ran a hand through it, “thanks.”</p>
<p>“Freddie was giving you such a hard time,” Brian said as he fell into the passenger seat, Roger fell into the driver’s side and slammed his door shut. “It looked good before but it looks good now <em>as well.</em>”</p>
<p>“Right yeah,” he said with a shake in his voice, “thanks.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Brian got quiet as Roger started up the engine and pulled away from the curb. “Chrissie wanted me to ask when you’re free.”</p>
<p>“Did she?” Roger cocked his head but kept his eyes on the road. “What for?”</p>
<p>“She liked that woman you brought with you to that do Freddie had, she thought she might welcome her to the family so to speak,” Brian added with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger couldn’t honestly remember which woman they were talking about but the one thing he did know about her was, “she’s gone.”</p>
<p>“Gone?”</p>
<p>“We split,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Oh…” Roger knew Brian was staring at him with eyes full of pity and wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact. “Well I’m sorry to hear that.”</p>
<p>“We were only together a few weeks,” Roger said. That was the longest he’d been able to make any woman last since New York. None of them felt right, none of them filled the house up how he thought they might, none of them filled up that black hole of emptiness in his chest.</p>
<p>“Still, she was nice,” said Brian, “but—but there are plenty of other women too,” he added quickly.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Roger replied absently.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m sure Chrissie would still love for you to come by,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Would she,” Roger bit his cheek.</p>
<p>“Of course she would—”</p>
<p>“I don’t need pity, Brian,” Roger snapped.</p>
<p>“It’s not pity,” Brian said with no hesitation.</p>
<p>Roger glanced his way, met his eyes only for a moment, took in his expression of concern and annoyance, and looked back to the road ahead. “Sure it’s not.”</p>
<p>“What exactly would I be pitying you for?” Brian’s voice was softer then, more careful. Too close to real emotions for Roger’s taste, too close to talking about how his nights spent alone were somehow less lonely than the ones spent with the women he met. Too close to talking about how he’d cut his hair, how he wished he could do it again and again every night since. How he wished he could go through his house and upturn every piece of furniture, every bit of art his decorator had bought, how he wished he could move out, move back in with Freddie, spend his nights with the three of them at pubs with women who wouldn’t give them the time of day.</p>
<p>“I think I’m just tired,” Roger said dismissively, not willing to get into any conversation beyond the weather and the album with Brian.</p>
<p>“If you say so,” Brian said quietly.</p>
<p>A naturally timed response opportunity came and went. Roger opened his mouth to speak but left a big gap of silence and turned down a few streets before awkwardly adding, “I’d like to, to have dinner and all that with you and Chrissie if I’m not too much of a third wheel.”</p>
<p>“If anyone’s the third wheel it’s Chrissie,” Brian laughed. Roger knew how he meant it. How he was referring to their friendship and how they’d get lost on tangents others couldn’t follow and poor Chrissie had more than once been left alone essentially with whatever woman Roger thought to bring by. And he hated the way he wished Brian meant it with more nuance, more depth, not just their fucking friendship. “Let me know when you’re free. I know living the bachelor life you’ve got a lot more excitement than she and I.”</p>
<p>Roger thought back to the weekend before when he’d invited a few friends over, old friends from Truro who teased him for his newfound wealth and drank with him for awhile, but the conversation grew stale, felt alien to him. Maybe he felt alien to them too. Maybe he’d gone too far with this new life and couldn’t relate back to his old self the way Brian seemed to do so well. He spent that night playing cards with his cook until he caught him yawning and freed him up to head to bed. “Yeah, I…do get up to it.”</p>
<p>“I miss that,” Brian said with a fond smile, more like a grandparent looking back on youth less like a twenty-something thinking of pub crawls.</p>
<p>“We’ll be touring soon enough,” Roger said with a quick grin he couldn’t be bothered to commit to. The idea of Brian looking so nostalgically back on a life Roger couldn’t seem to climb out of made him grip the wheel a bit tighter, take the next turn a bit rougher.</p>
<p>“You don’t sound thrilled about touring,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“I am,” said Roger with fake enthusiasm. Touring really was his only safe haven anymore. Chrissie found her way to the studio now but on tour no one was anyone but each other. There were no other friends, other lives, no families no domestic commitments, just the four of them, how it used to be. More or less anyway. “I’m just tired.” He coughed, trying to cover the strange gap in conversation and added, “anything in particular you’re looking forward to?” He cringed at how similar he sounded to an interviewer.</p>
<p>“The music,” Brian said with a confused laugh, “some places have nice food.”</p>
<p>“They do,” Roger ran a hand through the strange fringe he’d cut himself and wondered where the hell his conversation skills had gone. Maybe he’d chopped them off with his hair.</p>
<p>“Y’know I’m,” Brian tried and failed to cross his legs smoothly, he had to tug one across the other in the cramped space of Roger’s sports car, “I’m er, looking forward to America.”</p>
<p>Roger shrugged. “I like South America better these days—or I suppose the warmer bits of the States as well, just can’t stand those middle places with no ocean and nothing but cornfields.”</p>
<p>“Er,” Brian shifted against the glovebox, Roger fought the urge to swat at his leg until he put it back down and stopped scuffing things up, “me too but I meant, mostly, I’m excited to go back to y’know…New York or…y’know other places too.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger kept his eyes on the road but felt every muscle in his body tense with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down. Not excitement or fear, not eagerness or apprehension, but whatever it was it was enough to make him accidentally blow through a red light. Brian swore as a car swerved to avoid crashing through Roger’s back bumper, and Roger muttered apologies to the drivers on the road who couldn’t hear him and to Brian as he sped up out of panic and slowed back down before a crosswalk. “Sorry—I—miles away.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, no harm done,” said Brian, though Roger knew under any other circumstances that would warrant a lecture akin to Brian’s standard no-smoking monologue.</p>
<p>“What, er, what were saying?” said Roger, unsure if he actually wanted the conversation to continue, unsure where exactly it would go or where he’d want it to go.</p>
<p>“Don’t remember,” said Brian quickly, a lie to move the conversation on. A lie Roger though he might call him on, but what would he say.</p>
<p>That he thought about New York more than he’d ever admit to himself? That he didn’t know why. Or maybe he did know why and didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to feed the thoughts past shutting them down and pretending they hadn’t crossed his mind. That every moment spent with Brian, every second they pretended it hadn’t happened, pretended nothing was different, was agony he couldn’t describe, could hardly understand. That his sanity, his contentedness in life chipped away every morning he woke up alone in his big, empty house. That on the edges of sleep and waking when he couldn’t force the idea way, he wondered if Brian in the empty space next to him would fix all of that. That the pit in his stomach of dread and otherness weighed so much, that with Chrissie around Roger couldn’t help but feel alone in that feeling. The only one to get stuck in the past, to get stuck on one stupid fucking night in New York that he couldn’t explain while everyone else grew up and got married and pulled away.</p>
<p>No, there wasn’t much he could say to Brian that would remedy those feelings. And the bit of normalcy he felt talking about sports teams or melodies wasn’t something he’d sacrifice for the sake of getting it all out.</p>
<p>“Whenever you’re free,” Brian said once more when he hopped out of Roger’s car at the edge of his gate.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you know,” Roger replied out the window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roger spent the week he was meant to spend writing and polishing his songs trying to find a way to fake or somehow simulate energy. In himself, in his drums. He brought home one or two strange woman two nights but they hadn’t served as a distraction rather as an irritant, a reminder that something was wrong with him and he swore they could all tell. Everyone in the club he’d been to, the women he brought home, Crystal, the other friends he’d gone with. Like everyone saw right through him to the one thing he wished no one knew, not even himself.</p>
<p>The irony of this pain being useful to most artists wasn’t lost on him. But how would it look, his last song being a dreamy, hazy dragger about growing old, wasting life and wishing for it back, with Brian’s name tagged on the end with a wink and smile through the studio glass. How could he show up to the studio with some Freddie-esque greek tragedy on the coattails of his more relatable, more rock-star creations. He wasn’t Freddie, even if he could bring himself to write any of it down, he couldn’t hide it under layers of fantasy the way Freddie could. Even then, three years out, Roger couldn’t be so sure what Bohemian Rhapsody meant. No Roger was too blunt of a person to be able to hide in lyrics.</p>
<p>So he wrote his fast pace, loud angry jaunts that distracted him. Gave him something to really play, to really push himself with, something to scream, something to get a sweat worked up in the studio. Something to get Freddie shooting him thumbs up throughout.</p>
<p>“Best take so far, dear,” said Freddie into the microphone.</p>
<p>“Think?” panted Roger, coming to the end of his rope on take fifteen or sixteen. They were reaching the cusp of overworking where repetition started to cause slip-ups rather than prevent them as Roger could more easily coast through the piece.</p>
<p>“I know,” said Freddie. “I really like the drum interlude, is that the word for that? Interlude?”</p>
<p>“The solo bit?”</p>
<p>“Yes that little bridge between,” Freddie’s finger slipped off the mic button, Roger watched his arms go up in defeat, watched him stand up and hurry into the recording booth with him. “As I was saying, that little gap between where we said all those sirens ought to go, I like the way you’ve done that.”</p>
<p>“Well, thanks,” said Roger, cocking his head at the specific compliment.</p>
<p>“I think something to that effect would fit nicely in this song Brian’s got worked up, I’m not sure yet but I think big drums go and I think that’s a real,” Freddie gestured in what looked like a vaguely drummer-esque fashion, beating some fake snare in the air and stomping his foot, “it’s a real attention-getter.”</p>
<p>“What song of his?” said Roger. So far Brian had only pitched his lengthy death ballad and his more jazzy rags to riches tale.</p>
<p>“New thing,” Freddie said, his fingers absently spinning the cymbal in front of him, “the melody’s there, the lyrics are sort of…we’ll say ‘in the early stages’.”</p>
<p>“In the early stages as in they’re shit or they’re not done?”</p>
<p>“Not done,” said Freddie, “if they were shit I’d just say that.”</p>
<p>“Is this another time where you get John and I to write a real basher of a rhythm section and Brian tells us to slow it down and quiet it up?”</p>
<p>“The man doesn’t know what he wants until I tell him,” Freddie said with a smirk.</p>
<p>“Say that into the mic why don’t you?” Roger shifted his snare mic in Freddie’s direction, he jumped back like it might bite.</p>
<p>“You trying to record his cock?” said John as he swung the door open.</p>
<p>“It’d probably sell,” said Roger.</p>
<p><em>“Probably?!”</em> Freddie said with a loud, drawn-out shriek. John paid the noise and Freddie no mind as he made his way back over to his bass. “It would <em>definitely</em> sell, you bastard.”</p>
<p>“He’s got a cock with the voice of an angel, Rog, keep up,” John said with a straight face by some miracle.</p>
<p>“That might be an idea for the album,” said Roger.</p>
<p>“Why do you sound so genuine when you say that?” Freddie said with a smirk he was trying to hide.</p>
<p>“It’d be very avant garde wouldn’t it?” Roger said, leaning back into his drum stool, grinning like an idiot. “Very artsy and cutting edge to record—”</p>
<p>“Record what?” John laughed. “The wind whistling by it? What sound’s a cock supposed to make?”</p>
<p>“Really only makes sound when it’s being used,” said Freddie with a defeated nod.</p>
<p>“I’ll bet you four million pounds the Beatles have tried to record the sound of their cock’s coming but <em>only we</em> have the spunk strong enough to be audible,” Roger said, just barely eeking the words out past a laugh. Roger noticed a big ball of black curls peaking in through the door.</p>
<p>“Have I come at a bad time?” Brian said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Excellent word choice,” John groaned.</p>
<p>“You’ve saved us from Roger’s experimentation,” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“What a pity,” Brian said with a laugh. “I’ve polished up the piano on my track if anyone wants to give it a once-over.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you confident in your creations?” Freddie said with a tilt of his head, like Brian might be hiding something.</p>
<p>“Well—sure I am, but considering we’re a four piece band I thought the other three pieces might like to take a gander.”</p>
<p>“You were wrong,” John teased.</p>
<p>“Oh, play nice,” Freddie chided. He urged them all up and guided them through to the room just across the hall where the piano was, Roger and John followed behind like ducklings and stood just back of Freddie when Brian sat down to play. He warned them that while he knew exactly where each note ought to go he wasn’t always sure he’d get there. Freddie clapped his shoulders and counted him off.</p>
<p>Roger’d heard the intro to this dead cat song more times than he could count, it was the first bit Brian worked out. They’d only been in the studio a week but Roger swore he’d heard a lifetime’s worth of that fucking introduction. But the verses were less familiar and kinder on his ears, it got inside him like music should.</p>
<p>Brian hummed the chorus, loosely forming the words when he could be bothered before going back to a hum and focusing on the keys. Roger found himself focusing on the keys as well, watching the way Brian’s fingers pressed against them, danced across them, maneuvered the music so effortlessly, almost as good as Freddie. He crossed his arms over his middle, tried to reason his fascination with Brian’s deft fingers with himself, tried to find a good, normal reason to be so mesmerised, while simultaneously being mesmerised.</p>
<p>“And that’s it,” Brian said, clacking the last chord quick before pulling both hands off the keys like he might not actually be allowed to touch the piano. “What do we think?”</p>
<p>“We love it, darling!” Freddie said with a clap of his hands. A clap that broke Roger of his reverie and his sharp focus on the way Brian’s hands curled over the piano bench and held on as he spun around to face them all.</p>
<p>“You do?” Brian said, focusing his attention more on Roger and John, waiting for their answers.</p>
<p>“You’re doing the vocal?” John asked. Brian nodded. “Good—it sounds—it’s really good, you’re best suited for it.”</p>
<p>“Bitch,” Freddie muttered.</p>
<p>“Excuse me!” John scoffed. “I seemed to recall yesterday when I tried to sing you the melody of one of <em>my </em><em>own</em> songs, you made me swear on my own grave to never sing again.”</p>
<p>“Because it sounded awful!” Freddie said with an exasperated groan. “I need coffee!” he turned on his heel, headed for the door. “No one understands my genius!” he added, Roger knew, just in the hopes of getting another reaction from John. And though John did hold steady and stoic for a few seconds, he was quick to rush after Freddie. Roger and Brian held their breaths and exhaled when they heard John’s loud, off-key voice singing the melody for his new song, followed quite closely by a high pitched shriek from Freddie that ended with ‘stop, I’ll go deaf’.</p>
<p>“I have missed the studio,” Roger said, wincing just a bit at John’s horrible vocals and Freddie’s attempt to cover them up.</p>
<p>“You didn’t say about the song,” Brian said, “any good?”</p>
<p>“Oh—Oh, it,” he breathed in sharp and tried to remember any musical commentary he might be able to offer Brian, anything other than ‘your hands looked nice playing it’, “it’s—really—well done, Bri.”</p>
<p>“Well done?” Brian smirked. “That sounds like you’re not sold.”</p>
<p>“No, I am, I very much am,” Roger said, sounding nothing like himself and worried Brian might notice, might somehow know what he’d been thinking of. “It’s…beautiful, really.”</p>
<p>“No jokes about my cat?” Brian said with a grin.</p>
<p>“Course not,” Roger said, serious as ever. “Got any harmonies for me mixed in?”</p>
<p>Brian shrugged. “I’ll have to see how a real vocal track sounds first.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Roger hummed. He blinked, trying to keep himself and his focus in the room not miles away in New York. “Oh er, if you and Chrissie are still keen, I think I’m free this weekend for dinner.”</p>
<p>“Finally decided to pencil us in eh?” Brian laughed and stood from the bench. “We should be free.”</p>
<p>“Should we invite the other two,” Roger said, though he immediately regretted it. He’d hate for his minimal time with Brian to get muddled and hogged by Freddie and John and their other halves.</p>
<p>“Er,” Brian looked past Roger, let silence settle in between them so the echos of John and Freddie’s laughing intermixed with horrid singing and screeching filled the space, “might be best just us two.”</p>
<p>“I’ll warn you, if Freddie finds out he’ll sue you,” Roger said with a wink.</p>
<p>“He might sue me but he’ll <em>beat</em> you,” Brian added. His mouth curled up in a shy grin, his cheeks reddened ever so slightly, and his eyes softened in a way that made Roger want to reach out for him. So he turned on his heel, hurried into the hall, hurried away from Brian and his gentle gaze and added his own screaming to the mixture in the hall, as high as he could go until Freddie managed to top him just barely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was always a tension in Roger’s shoulders when he saw Chrissie, a sort of embarrassment, a sort of shame in knowing what he’d done with Brian and how little she knew. Brian, he figured, didn’t feel that shame, didn’t see their strange nights in New York as anything to write home about, as anything to concern himself with. Roger couldn’t help feel jealous of that. He fiddled with his hair in the mirror, used the gel his stylist told him would tame his wayward haircut, but it never looked right.</p>
<p>It looked good sure, but it was noticeable, it was something Chrissie would mention, something that would make his heart tick up in speed as he struggled to get out his rehearsed explanation. He considered inviting his maid out with him, just to give Chrissie someone to talk to, to give him and Brian a bit alone. But the maid he’d hired in replacement of the one he’d thrown out so callously was quite obviously not someone he’d go with. A shorter, heavier woman who was about five years older than him. Far from his usual and more likely to be the topic of conversation than his hair.</p>
<p>The phone rang and made him jump. He grit his teeth and cursed whoever was on the other end as if they ought to have known he was on edge and a phone call was the last fucking thing he needed. His knuckles went white around the receiver.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he snapped.</p>
<p>“Rog, it’s Brian,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Oh,” was all Roger could think of.</p>
<p>“Sorry to say it but Chrissie’s rather ill, she’s not much in the mood for making dinner much less eating dinner,” Brian said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger reached for his hair, tugged it like he might scrape the gel of each individual hair, “well, next time—“”</p>
<p>“I figured I’d just come by yours,” Brian said. “I can bring something by, I doubt you’ll want to make something,” he added with a laugh. “Might be fun.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger kicked himself, “I mean—sure, that’d be fine.”</p>
<p>“Alright well, I’ll be by in about twenty, maybe thirty, just got to get Chrissie settled,” he said.</p>
<p>Roger wanted to ask why the hell he wouldn’t stay home and tend to her, why he was so willing to leave her behind, but he was worried asking him might bring Brian’s attention to it, might make him change his mind and stay home. “Well, see you soon then.”</p>
<p>Brian gave a quick goodbye that Roger mimicked as he put the phone down.</p>
<p>He wandered from his room, down the hall, down the steps, to the living room, to big barren living room sat in the center of the big barren house. His whole mansion reeked of loneliness and solitude and prepackaged decor chosen by his decorator, and furniture that was expensive and strange and sterile in rooms with ceilings too high to see and not even a ghost of another residing inside them.</p>
<p>There had to be a way to hide that. To cover up his pathetic lifestyle he couldn’t break from. He hurried to the coffee table, glanced at the books lying there that he hadn’t bought or arranged or even looked at before and found they were about race horses. He picked them up, shoved them into the built in drawer and looked rather frantically for something to put in the center of the table. Something that would convey that even though the house was empty, it was a home, it was lived in and loved.</p>
<p>He called for his maid, unsure if she was even still there, and sighed in relief when she peeked her head into the room. “Where’s the carpet?”</p>
<p>“Carpet?’ she cocked her head.</p>
<p>“The rug,” Roger gestured to the floor, “the rug the designer left, the one I had rolled up for that party, where’s it gone?”</p>
<p>“Oh I think it’s in the spare room upstairs,” her voice didn’t sound confident.</p>
<p>“Perfect—you go bring it down here and help me spread it out,” Roger said, eyeing the bare wood floors of the living room like they were sterile hospital tiles that Brian would take one look at and immediately get the full picture of Roger’s life. Like bare floors would tell Brian ever detail of his nights spent alone, his mornings spent locked up in his room, and his afternoons spent playing cards with the gardener.</p>
<p>“The—the rug—you want me to bring it down?” She looked worried, scared even.</p>
<p>“Yes, bring it down and we’ll spread it out.”</p>
<p>“It’s—it’s very heavy I don’t think I…” she began, “it’s authentic Persian.”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll help you,” Roger said quick, trying to convey the importance of speed for this project.</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’ll help,” she said. “It took those movers to get the whole thing up—it’s huge…sir,” she added with an awkward lilt. He and her didn’t speak enough for Roger to remember if she was mean to call him sir, or mister, to remember if she’d even asked.</p>
<p>He sighed, rubbed his forehead, and recalled that yes, it’d taken three men much stronger than Roger to get the whole thing up the stairs and stored. It’d take the same to get it out and back down. He couldn’t help think how if he’d just bought some cheap area rug at some outlet it’d be light enough for two to haul it back and forth. But no, his designer had insisted on some expensive Iranian import that he couldn’t have given less of a shit about. A rug he had to store in case anyone at their last party ruined it in some way. A rug that had been stored for the better part of two months since Roger, living all alone, could see no point in calling up a service to put the rug back. Why bother? To make his house more homey, more comfortable? For who? A rug wouldn’t change how Roger felt about the place.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” he sighed, “forget it.”</p>
<p>“Is there—I can do something else?” she said, her english suddenly a bit broken. Roger looked up curious as to whether or not she was English, how had he forgotten that.</p>
<p>“Erhm,” he put his hands on his hips, both trying to remember the maid’s surname and trying to think of something she might do to help, “just a—just a friend coming over, so…”</p>
<p>“I can tidy up,” she said. Roger just nodded and fell into his armchair, and watched while she put the unopened race horse books back on the coffee table.</p>
<p>He lit the fire in the hearth, hoped that might do something to imply a sense of homeliness. His maid seemed to think it did but to Roger it felt more like an act of survival. Like a starving man lighting a fire in the woods to keep frostbite at bay through the night. Not so much a man comfortable in his home, in his skin, enjoying the warmth and the light of a fire. He might’ve even put it out had the doorbell not rang and scared him out of his skin, and the maid too when she saw Roger jump.</p>
<p>“Have I kept you here?” he said as she hurried for the door.</p>
<p>“Just—just a bit,” she said with an awkward laugh.</p>
<p>“Go home,” he passed her, heading for the front door, “and thank you for staying late.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” she added, her voice still awkward. Maybe from her mystery nationality, or maybe because Roger had never said so much to her in one sitting.</p>
<p>He waited to hear her footsteps headed towards the side exit before he threw the door open. Brian grinned down at him, tight lipped at first then wide and toothy.</p>
<p>“Why do you look surprised to see me?”</p>
<p>“Do I?” Roger reached up for his face. “Don’t mean to.” He stepped aside, held his arm out for Brian to come inside and held his breath as he closed the door behind him. “What’d you bring.”</p>
<p>“Pasta,” Brian said, his eyes on the decoration in Roger’s foyer ceiling. Roger hadn’t looked at it since he moved in. “No meat, sorry.”</p>
<p>“You’re not sorry,” Roger laughed, genuine relaxation starting to seep into him.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for the mood it might’ve put you in but certainly not for keeping your heart from blocking up.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Roger scoffed, “if there’s one thing we know about pasta it’s how healthy it is.”</p>
<p>“Yeah yeah,” Brian rolled his eyes, “where’re we eating?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger thought for a moment, wondered what would be most normal. He ate all his meals in the kitchen at a small round table that used to have two chairs but when someone at a party smashed it clear over the counter Roger never saw need to replace it. They couldn’t eat there, the dining room maybe but Roger hadn’t even looked in there in days, that was probably much too formal a setting anyway.</p>
<p>“How’s about by the fire,” Brian said, headed towards the living room, “it’s a waste not to isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I—sure,” Roger said, hurrying to catch up, “sure.”</p>
<p>Roger sat in his armchair, Brian sat in the opposite armchair that Jo picked out for herself and left behind when it didn’t fit in her new boyfriend’s, soon to be husband’s, house. Roger watched Brian carefully while they ate, talking about nothing in particular, just how they always did. When his eyes strayed and glanced over the decor, the bare floors, the echoey walls, Roger’d jolt him with the conversation, ask him about whatever he could think of that wasn’t each other.</p>
<p>Brian, in his own clumsy way, shifted in his seat and asked for a drink. Asked for it like a teenager asking his parents for a glass of wine, with sweaty palms and averted eyes. Roger teased him for it and offered the whiskey he knew he had. There was wine, vodka, things Brian was more suited to, somewhere in the house. But he knew where his Southern Comfort whiskey was. He set his takeaway pasta on the mantel of the fireplace and meandered to the kitchen, hoping to make his steps quieter as he went, as not to draw attention to his big blank floors. He rummaged for two glasses and poured out a few fingers in each before heading back to Brian.</p>
<p>“Here we are,” Roger said, rounding the corner into the room. Brian, stood by the mantel, nervously tapping his toe, took a step toward Roger, took his whiskey from him with a shaking hand. “Don’t think you might be catching what Chrissie has?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” Brian swirled his whiskey and fell into the couch almost hard enough to splash it all over himself. “Oh—no, no. No chance of that.”</p>
<p>“Curious how she’s willing to let you go while she’s ill,” Roger said, much safer to ask that now that Brian was at his house. He hesitated for a moment before sitting at Brian’s side on the couch his designer picked out for him, one he realised was hard as a rock.</p>
<p>“According to her I get too underfoot,” Brian smirked. “I’m very worried and simultaneously very unhelpful when it comes to her being ill.”</p>
<p>“Seems like you,” Roger teased. Brian grinned back and took a sip of his whiskey, winced when he swallowed, and let his eyes dart to some tapestry Roger had hanging on the far wall, something Roger couldn’t think quick enough to distract him from.</p>
<p>“Never noticed that,” Brian said, pointing over to it with the glass in his hand. “Is it new?”</p>
<p>“I er,” Roger looked at it, without his glasses whatever pattern was on it was totally unreadable, “I don’t know really. I’ve got a designer that…” he sighed, “comes in and dresses the place up.”</p>
<p>“A designer?” Brian cocked his head. “You’re so picky, though.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger shrugged, “it’s a big house. I can’t micromanage.”</p>
<p>“It is rather big,” Brian’s eyes continued wandered around the room. “You don’t get lonely here? Chrissie and I are about three fourths this size and I find it a bit,” he thought for a moment, “dunno, a bit empty sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t get that way for me,” said Roger with a flippant shrug and a quick gulp of whiskey.</p>
<p>“Hard for you to be lonely,” Brian scoffed, “a different woman every night’s the polar opposite of solitude.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Roger said awkwardly. “Though it’s…y’know not always that way.”</p>
<p>“You take breaks from chasing women?” Brian said with genuine disbelief.</p>
<p>“It’s just, y’know,” he took in a sharp breath to avoid telling the truth, to avoid confessing to nights spent locked in his bathroom waiting for whatever woman he was with to leave so he could regroup, piece himself back together, and try and understand what tore him apart. “I don’t like strangers knowing my address.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Brian said thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Neither had I,” said Roger, genuinely shocked he’d been able to come up with something so convincing. “But er, yeah Crystal mentioned it to me and so now I’m a bit paranoid about having someone turn up unannounced.” He shrugged. “Easier to live that way when we’re on tour.”</p>
<p>“Everything was easier on tour.” Brian said with a laugh before taking another sip of his whiskey. Roger nodded absently, wondered if there was any depth to Brian’s words, wondered why he hoped so badly that there was.</p>
<p>“I miss it too,” Roger mumbled, though part of him knew he shouldn’t feed a conversation like this, a conversation that might end up somewhere not surface-level. “Like a whole different world.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes,” Brian said, his voice a bit quieter, “but sometimes when it’s just us it feels the same. Feels like we might as well be halfway across the world.”</p>
<p>“Just us?” Roger said, trying to give Brian an out, a way to guide the conversation back to surface level nonsense before they got in too far. Though, if Roger really thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he hoped for more.</p>
<p>“Just us,” Brian repeated blankly, then quickly added, “or just y’know—er—all four of us at the studio.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roger breathed. His mind entirely preoccupied with staying in the moment, in the room, not letting his thoughts drift back to New York. But, why. Brian wasn’t doing that, in fact he was inviting in the topic they’d avoided for months on end. He was welcoming it into the conversation and urging it to speak, why should Roger shut it out, why should he force his mind back into the room when Brian was miles away in New York. “Yeah,” he said again, letting his free hand fall gracelessly on Brian’s thigh. He held it still for a moment, stared straight ahead into the fire, and held his breath when his fingertips moved lightly against the fabric of Brian’s trousers, his palm planted firm as he went.</p>
<p>“Roger,” Brian breathed, husky and dark in Roger’s ear. So familiar but it shouldn’t have been. A side of Brian he missed so terribly, wanted so badly, but should never have seen in the first place. Something he couldn’t indulge but felt he might die without.</p>
<p>“Why don’t we tour the house,” Roger said, a little too loud, loud enough for Brian to jolt back.</p>
<p>“Uh,” Brian blinked, “a tour?”</p>
<p>“A tour,” Roger repeated, slapping his hand against Brian’s knee as if that’s why he’d put it there in the first place. “You’ve never seen the upstairs, have you?”</p>
<p>“Suppose I haven’t,” Brian shrugged.</p>
<p>“Then come on,” Roger said, hopping to his feet. He didn’t particularly want to give Brian a home tour, didn’t think he’d have anything interesting to say but he couldn’t bear an apology from him, couldn’t bear trying to breeze past an awkward stumble in conversation, having to pretend they weren’t both thinking of their last night together. So he lead the way up the stairs and exhaled deep in relief when he heard Brian follow behind.</p>
<p>He started down the hall first, opened doors to hall closets, a bathroom, a room that was once meant to be dedicated to Jo’s art that was now dedicated to Roger’s weights. He held the door open to the jam-packed spare room where his designer kept all the furniture and bits of art, odd lamps, various rugs and pillows that weren’t in the current rotation. Boring as hell but Brian pretended to care, anything to switch the subject. But something about how close Brian walked with him, how often his hand made it’s way to Roger’s hip, to his side, or even brushed against Roger’s hand, made him feel like maybe the topic hadn’t switched, maybe Brian’s mind wasn’t clear either, maybe they were, for the first time in months, on the same page and too terrified to tell each other.</p>
<p>“And this one’s mine,” Roger said, throwing the door open to his room and taking the first step in to encourage Brian to do the same.</p>
<p>“Wow,” he breathed, his eyes on Roger’s bay window, “what a view.”</p>
<p>Roger watched him cross the room, mesmerised by the nearly pitch black view Roger had of the back garden and the bit of land his house backed up into. “It’s better in daylight.”</p>
<p>“It’s plenty good now,” Brian said, one knee resting on the window seat lazily.</p>
<p>“I er, read here a lot,” Roger said, feeding Brian the same lie he fed his maid as he sidled up next to him, looked out on the moonlit figure of the garden shed with him.</p>
<p>“Seems like the perfect place to do it,” Brian said, the stilted silence that settled between them almost deafening. He wanted Brian to stay but he didn’t know what for. The thought of him heading home so soon was painful but why would he stay. It was on their minds sure, but they wouldn’t go through with it. At least Roger figured he wouldn’t. He’d never gone near Brian without a third party, why start now.</p>
<p>Then again, it wasn’t entirely without precedent. Roger glanced up at Brian, his mind drifting back to that night, in the hotel pool, when Brian took him in his mouth and let Roger clutch his hand tight against his chest. Maybe they could have that again, a more innocent night but <em>something</em>, something just between the two of them, something to satisfy that horrible ache in Roger’s chest. Brian looked down at Roger, his lips parted like he might speak, and his gaze drifted to Roger’s bed.</p>
<p>“Big bed,” he said thickly.</p>
<p>“Big enough for two,” Roger replied quietly.</p>
<p>“You think?” Brian said, as if it might be in question. He pulled away, took a step towards the bed, ran his hand across the neatly made sheets and sat on the edge. He kept his eyes on Roger, asking permission in his silence as he shifted further up, made himself more comfortable on Roger’s bed. Roger took one hesitant step closer, then strode to close the gap between them, to hurry up onto the bed, to topple Brian over, to lie on him, to sigh at the slight relief he felt when he pressed his cock against Brian’s thigh.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” He moved his hips subtly against Brian’s thigh and let his eyes close, felt Brian do the same and hummed at the feeling.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian repeated. His hands came to rest on Roger’s sides, then the slight cinch of his waist as Brian thrust up against him.</p>
<p>Roger pressed against him hard, moved against him slow and steady, and panted into his curls, tugged on his beltloops, and sighed each time he felt Brian’s cock rub up against his thigh, his lower belly. He pulled away from Brian’s curls eyed him for a moment, made sure he hadn’t misread anything, to make sure Brian hadn’t been blindsided, though there wasn’t much opportunity for that. And sure enough, Brian’s face wasn’t painted in shock and confusion but instead full of pleasure and desperation.</p>
<p>Desperation Roger felt too. Desperation he didn’t know how to satisfy. Maybe in his dreams it came easy to him but here in the thick of it, it felt wrong to do anything other than grind against each other like confused teenagers.</p>
<p>“C’mon Rog,” Brian panted.</p>
<p>“C’mon what?” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Are you just gonna grind against me all day?” Brian said, looking pathetic and needy beneath him.</p>
<p>“What the fuck else are we supposed to do, there’s no woman here,” Roger’s tone was biting but his cock was still rolling against Brian with all the need in the world. “What do you want from me?”</p>
<p>“I want you to fuck me,” Brian said with a soberingly sincere, even tone.</p>
<p>Roger clenched his jaw and knew the shock on his face must be clear but he was past the point of caring. “You’re not supposed to say it out loud.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Brian thrust up against him, more eager now.</p>
<p>“That’s just how we do it,” Roger said, that being his genuine reasoning and the only thing he could think to say.</p>
<p>“Well let’s stop,” Brian whined, “I can’t wait until New York again, I want you now.”</p>
<p>Roger stared down at him like he’d gone insane. Breaching their carefully constructed social etiquette left and right. This dance of speaking to each other in terse tones and cut off sentences, of pretending nothing had happened but never letting each other mention New York, mention America, mention anything not suitable for a conversation with a stranger. So intricate and longstanding and Brian just threw it all out. “You’re not supposed to say it,” Roger repeated, more in disbelief now than as a warning.</p>
<p>“It’ll be making it even,” Brian said. “Remember,” he reached up for Roger’s cheek, “I fucked you in New York, it’s only fair, for both of us, that you…”</p>
<p>“That,” Roger breathed in heavy, “I can do that.” A thin layer of pretense, wafer thin, but enough to justify it to the part of his mind that was inches away from panicking and bolting out.</p>
<p>“So do it,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Lube,” Roger said blankly before scurrying off Brian, “lube” he repeated on his way to the bathroom, hoping beyond hope he’d have something in there. When he did he nearly tripped over his own feet hurrying back to Brian. He tore his clothes off as he walked, Brian did the same from his spot on the bed, and laughed when Roger tripped over his own feet trying to step out of his trousers.</p>
<p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Brian said. Roger only laughed, fake and half-hearted, too anxious to relax into it the way Brian had. He handed the lube off to Brian, laid him down with a press against his chest and told him to lift his hips and let Roger tug his pants off. Brian grinned awkwardly as he did and sighed in some sort of relief when they were gone, when Roger was settled between his legs, when he was laid bare.</p>
<p>Roger let his fingertips run across his aching cock, not stroking, just giving him the bare minimum of attention to watch Brian’s face twist up in pleasure. A face he’d seen before many times, but had never tried so hard to look at. He took the lube back, coated his fingers as generously as he could and whispered praise in Brian’s ear when he slipped them in. He knew, from experience, there would be no soothing the burn with words, but they couldn’t hurt.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Brian said with a fistful of sheets.</p>
<p>“It’ll stop hurting,” Roger said against his neck.</p>
<p>“It already has,” Brian breathed.</p>
<p>Roger paused and opened his eyes but didn’t move from where he was nestled against Brian’s neck. “It has?”</p>
<p>“I do this at home,” Brian said, much quieter, “but my fingers can never reach as deep as a cock.”</p>
<p>Roger’s breathing stuttered, his stomach dropped at the thought of Brian getting off to him all this time. He whined, bit at Brian’s neck with a gentle touch and pushed his fingers in as deep as they could get. Brian begged, pleaded for the real thing, and Roger hurried to give it to him. He watched the way Brian shut his eyes tight and gripped the sheets as he sank in and rubbed circles into his hip, as if that might ease any of the pain. At very least it would let Brian know he felt the slightest pang of guilt for it.</p>
<p>The soft creaking of the bed punctuated each of Roger’s shallow thrusts along with Brian’s quiet moans. The pain not quite gone but the pleasure there already, a feeling Roger could just barely remember. He leant over him, kept his weight off Brian like he might break, but left marks along his neck, along his collar, something to distract him for awhile until finally he asked for more. Roger pulled back and gave it to him, desperately rutting into him, one hand gripping his thigh, the other tentative on his cock, stroking him but his touch unsure if he was allowed.</p>
<p>Brian groaned, reached up and bit the fat of his hand as if he might need to quiet himself. His cheeks flushed a brilliant pink, his eyes shut tight but occasionally cracked open to stare up at Roger like he was otherworldly. Roger didn’t think much of Brian’s looks, his face was familiar and kind and beyond that he wasn’t sure what he was meant to think of it, but in that moment the word beautiful came to mind.</p>
<p>The hand gripping Brian’s thigh moved up subtly, across his hip, his stomach, his chest, feeling each rib as he went. Part of him wanted to lean down, to wrap himself around Brian as he filled him, to hold every part of him, to kiss him, to tell him how gorgeous he looked, how good he felt. But the most he gave was a hand on Brian’s chest and the desperate panting of his name.</p>
<p>“Almost,” Brian said with a pained groan, his hand clutched Roger’s hand on his chest tight enough to bruise. Roger remembered how overwhelming it felt to come that way, from the inside out, how good and how intense it’d been, how every nerve ending in his body had warned him it’d be too much. He snapped his hips deep in Brian, deep as he could, over and over, with a quick and steady hand on his cock, hoping Brian would finish first, doing everything in his power to delay himself until Brian had his fill.</p>
<p>He arched off the bed, pushed up into Roger, choked on his name seized up under him when he came. His expression a mix of pleasure and exhaustion as Roger stroked him through it. He breathed in heavy, long breaths and opened his eyes just enough to stare up at Roger. “Stop stop,” he husked, swatting Roger’s hand away from his cock, “too much.”</p>
<p>“But good?” Roger said, already knowing the answer. Brian nodded against the sheets and winced when Roger rutted against him, his own built up orgasm starting to fade with the stillness.</p>
<p>“Stop,” he repeated with a breathy sigh.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Roger whispered under his breath. “It’s fucking good like that, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Brian nodded and took in another deep breath, his chest still rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. “You want it like that?”</p>
<p>“I’ve already had it like that,” Roger laughed. He pulled out with a hiss, already missing the tight heat of Brian, though the way his oversensitive body shivered even at that slight motion made it worth it.</p>
<p>“No I mean tonight,” Brian said, his breathing more even now.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger said, his hand drifted to his neglected cock. “Do you want to?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Brian said, so unabashed in his asking, “I wanna fuck you again if you’ll let me.”</p>
<p>Roger couldn’t help feel embarrassed on Brian’s behalf, like it was humiliating to ask that of him, like it’d be humiliating to ask Brian to give him back what he’d been given. Like somehow saying it outloud was more taboo than doing it. He squeaked out a quiet, “okay” and smiled at the wide grin that spread across Brian’s face, like he’d just won the lottery.</p>
<p>He warned Brian he wasn’t as drunk as the first time, and didn’t have much practice doing it alone like Brian did, so opening him up might prove more difficult but Brian didn’t mind, still needed time to get hard again either way. He kept a hand on Roger’s thigh, ran his fingertips across Roger’s cock but never lingered, and looked down at Roger with eyes full of care and<em> something</em> Roger couldn’t put his finger on, something that made his breath hitch when he saw it.</p>
<p>He grit his teeth, shut his eyes, when Brian filled him. Familiar but more unfamiliar than he liked. A searing burn but instantly scratching that itch of pleasure he hadn’t felt in ages. Where Roger thought laying on Brian, wrapping around him might be too familiar, too close, Brian didn’t hesitate to lay across him, to awkwardly force his hand between them and around Roger’s cock, to bite at his neck and shoulders, to grab at his hair while he moved, fast and forceful enough to make Roger’s eyes roll back.</p>
<p>It was a rare feeling for Roger, especially these days, to get so far gone in the pleasure of it. Certainly a feeling he missed. The ability to stare up at Brian slackjawed and incoherent and have him know exactly what he needed, to be able to do the same for him, it was like nothing else. He screamed, some combination of Brian’s name slurred with curses and pleas, Brian matched the sound, whined Roger’s name, and pressed his cheek to Roger’s, panted in his ear before he husked, “you look so beautiful like this.”</p>
<p>Roger groaned, and wanted with all his might to say he’d thought the same of Brian, to say he’d been to shy to tell him, to ask if maybe they shouldn’t say those things, but all he could manage was a whimper and his nails dug a little deeper into his back. Brian pulled back, brushed his lips across Roger’s cheek, down his jaw, over his chin, then up to meet Roger’s lips. Warm, soft, inviting. But Roger turned his head still, not so far gone as to let that slide.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Brian mumbled, pulling back just enough to catch Roger’s eye.</p>
<p>“We don’t do that,” Roger said like that ought to be enough.</p>
<p>“But we can,” Brian stared down at him, his eyes full of embarrassment but he wasn’t backing down.</p>
<p>“We shouldn’t,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“What else could happen?” Brian asked. And maybe he had a point. They’d crossed so many other, more extreme lines, it felt inane to draw the line at a kiss. But in the same breath it felt like the world. And Brian didn’t pretend it didn’t feel like the world, but he still asked for it.</p>
<p>Maybe Roger wouldn’t mind giving the world over to him.</p>
<p>He nodded, the slightest little motion of his head, subtle enough he worried Brian might’ve missed it. But the way he pressed his lips hard against Roger’s told him he hadn’t. Roger sighed into his mouth, welcomed the shy intrusion of his tongue, clawed his back and breathed him in as deep as he could, like he might never be here again, like he might never be anywhere again. He felt like home, tasted like it too, and there was nothing Roger wanted more than to stay there with him.</p>
<p>“I love you,” Brian breathed against his lips. “I love you,” he said again. Brian broke away only to speak, and dove back into Roger in an instant, running his tongue along Roger’s, biting his lip with the kind of confidence Roger couldn’t have guessed from him, tugging his hair and shutting him up in effect. As if he didn’t want to hear Roger’s response, as if he knew what it’d be and didn’t like the answer enough to let Roger give it.</p>
<p>“I,” Roger began, cut off quick by Brian’s lips until he turned his cheek, let Brian’s lips press against his skin there instead, “I do too.”</p>
<p>Brian pulled away, just enough to look at him, blankly at first, then a wide grin that Roger mimicked. He laughed like he might cry and kissed Roger, again and again and again, and held onto him and made him moan his name and beg for it harder, deeper, until he came between them with a shuddered cry and a few yelps of oversensitivity when Brian kept on, hurrying to finish just behind him. When he did, he went limp over Roger, breathed in heavy and rolled off him with steady and slow movements.</p>
<p>Roger stared at the ceiling, didn’t look over when Brian started brushing his sweat soaked hair from his forehead, didn’t look over when he kissed his shoulder and draped an arm across his chest. He kept his gaze up at the dark swirling texture of his ceiling and wondered what he was meant to do now.</p>
<p>“We should rinse off,” Brian said, his voice cracking like it’d been overused.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roger said with no feeling.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Brian repeated a little quieter. He sounded like he might say something else, the last thing Roger wanted. So he hoisted himself up and urged Brian to come rinse off with him.</p>
<p>After they’d got their jokes out, their jabs aimed at eachother, they’re teasing touches and pinches, the were quiet under the hot spray of the water, but closer, like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Brian didn’t flinch when Roger lathered up his back, and Roger didn’t flinch when Brian did the same, no words between them just understanding. Roger offered him shorts, a shirt, to sleep in, he took it without a word and climbed into that big empty spot in Roger’s bed he’d been trying so desperately to fill.</p>
<p>Roger flicked out the light and climbed in by his side. “Chrissie won’t mind?”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell her I was too drunk to make it back,” Brian said as his leg awkwardly bridged the slight gap between them by sliding between Roger’s.</p>
<p>“She won’t be upset? She’s ill, I figured—”</p>
<p>“She’s not ill,” Brian said with a laugh, “I just…wanted time without her, with just you.”</p>
<p>Roger laughed, grinned like a lovesick idiot. “You could’ve just said so,” Roger said with a sigh, “months of talking like strangers, I would’ve loved to hear a single ‘by the way I miss you’.”</p>
<p>“Well, so would I,” Brian bit back, a smile still on his face. Roger conceded they’d both spent too long pretending not to need the other, no point pointing fingers over it. He shimmied closer to Brian, cupped his cheek quick and kissed him quicker. The initial rush of it still there, still jolting every inch of him like he was some twelve year old new to the whole thing. He lingered on Brian for a second more, still a bit in disbelief that he could. That he could just lean over, kiss him how he wanted, and think nothing of it. Nothing negative anyway.</p>
<p>“You’re good at that,” Brian hummed.</p>
<p>“I know,” Roger whispered back.</p>
<p>“Could you imagine,” Brian smirked, “going back—telling our younger selves how we’d end up.”</p>
<p>“My younger self wouldn’t believe it,” Roger said, “no way in hell.”</p>
<p>“Mine would,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” Roger scoffed, “there’s no way he would.”</p>
<p>“If I could prove to him it was really me, he’d have to, that’s how time works and he knows that,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger rolled his eyes, “setting that aside.”</p>
<p>“He’d still believe it,” Brian said. “I think he’d be surprised you’d go for him but he’d believe it.”</p>
<p>“What’s that mean?” Roger grinned, let his hand come to rest on Brian’s hip. “Did you fancy me back then?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly, but I definitely stared at you a lot,” Brian said with a laugh. “I don’t think I ever really thought of it like that until that first time in New York. Before that you were just a friend I liked to look at and be around.”</p>
<p>“That’s actually quite sweet,” Roger said, reaching up to brush his curls off his face, “little Brian with a crush on me.”</p>
<p>“Not a crush,” he corrected half-heartedly.</p>
<p>“Little Brian with a little crush,” Roger teased.</p>
<p>“You had a crush eventually too,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Not that early on,” Roger scoffed, “I didn’t look at you until New York.”</p>
<p>“And then you sucked me off out of spite,” Brian countered, “I think we’re even.”</p>
<p>“I’ll still tease you,” Roger said with all the love in the world.</p>
<p>“I expect nothing less,” Brian said in the same way.</p>
<p>Roger pulled his curls up and let them fall, watched the gentle tugging lull Brian’s eyes closed. His face, normally so turned up in anxieties, looked so calm then.</p>
<p>“You really think she’ll be fine if you stay?” Roger asked once more before Brian was knocked out.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Brian said. Though, Roger figured, if he really cared about her not being upset he wouldn’t have come at all that night. “Do you want me to leave?”</p>
<p>“No,” Roger said, though he didn’t know if that was true. But he reached a hand out for Brian’s shirt, curled it up in the fabric to try and convince him. “I…” he sighed at his own failed attempt at a sentence and tried again with, “This might be a silly question but did you mean what you said?”</p>
<p>“What did I say?” Brian smirked.</p>
<p>“That you love me,” Roger replied, deadly serious.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t lie about that,” Brian said, his face stoic now too. “Why—Did you not mean it?”</p>
<p>“I did,” Roger said, and he did.</p>
<p>“Then why do you look so upset?” Brian said with a concerned laugh, a laugh that was meant to break the tension but couldn’t.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Roger said, not entirely the truth. He did know on some level that how right everything felt with Brian wasn’t what he’d hoped. The way Brian so easily filled the holes in his life, in his house wasn’t what he wanted. He’d pictured a few months down the line meeting some young model with nothing but love for him that would make him look back fondly on the memories but feel no desire to return to them. Now he was stuck in bed with his married best friend with the brand new knowledge he’d never be as happy as he was when they were together, when he forgot Chrissie, the press, anyone else he might have to answer to existed. His grip in Brian’s shirt tightened and loosened over and over. “What’re you gonna do?” He reached up, brushed Brian’s damp curls back.</p>
<p>“What’d’you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean…” Roger wondered if maybe he was the only one to think so far ahead. If maybe Brian’s confession meant nothing, nothing tangible anyway. “I mean what comes next?”</p>
<p>Brian said nothing, the look on his face doing all the talking. A tense expression full of dashed hopes and almost-spoken words that wouldn’t have helped. That wouldn’t change their intricate, delicate situation. That wouldn’t make Chrissie go away, and Roger wondered if maybe some part of Brian didn’t want her gone, if maybe he was too torn to choose, too ready to assume Roger would accept a life in the wings.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he said after a long silence, “doesn’t that count for something?”</p>
<p>Roger’s silence answered for him. He kept his hand dancing across Brian’s cheek, through his untamed curls, and wondered if this would be the last time he’d see him this way, or if maybe he’d be relegated to spending his nights on tour with him, shutting up when Chrissie called, pretending he’d been somewhere else when Freddie and John asked about their nights out. Maybe Brian would visit more like this and have to dodge the paparazzi if anyone caught wind of them, if maybe Roger’s maid found them and sold the story to afford quitting. That wasn’t a life he wanted.</p>
<p>Being secretive and ashamed of himself was never in his nature. It’d never really had cause to be before. Everything else about him was acceptable, praised by society. He was beautiful, blond haired, blue eyed, a charismatic boy who women loved. Shame was new to his repertoire. And though he knew it’d be silly to complain about having lived so freely up until then, he wouldn’t give it up now just because it’d be harder to maintain. No he’d rather go without Brian, rather live in his big empty house alone if the alternative was secrecy. And Brian knew that about him, Roger could tell from his sad expression.</p>
<p>And when Roger fell asleep with his face buried in Brian’s chest and his lips whispering words of love that were barely coherent, Brian held him. And when Roger woke in the dead of night to find Brian had left he knew it was probably for the best.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the weekend passed in an instant, in a blink it was over and no part of Roger felt any better once it’d gone. So he called in sick on Monday, said he had a bad cold and didn’t care if anyone believed it. He had a cold two days in a row and figured on his third day he had to bite the bullet. He wasn’t going to sink his career on Brian’s account, wasn’t going to delay the fucking album. He reminded himself of that fact on a loop hoping he wouldn’t park and be totally unable to walk inside. His hands shook on the doorknob but he walked in, confidently called some hellos down the hallway, and heard Freddie and John reply, the two of them off in the breakroom with two mugs of coffee.</p>
<p>“Where’s Brian?” Roger said as he peeled his jacket off.</p>
<p>“Working on the guitar for that song,” John said.</p>
<p>“Which song?”</p>
<p>“The one he didn’t have the lyrics nailed down for,” Freddie sipped his coffee, “obviously now they’re all polished up.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” Roger moved to the cabinet, found a mug for himself and hoped the coffee pot wasn’t empty already. “What’s it called?”</p>
<p>“It’s night?” John said. “Nighttime?”</p>
<p>“No,” Freddie rolled his eyes, “It’s Late.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying it’s called ‘Late’ or—” John began.</p>
<p>“The song is titled ‘It’s Late’,” Freddie bit back before John could really get it going.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Roger poured himself the last of the coffee, “so it’s good?”</p>
<p>“I like it, I’ve got ideas for your drums,” John said.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised it’s not done apart from the drums,” Roger said, “he likes to fast track his songs usually.”</p>
<p>“Oh well, he came in late on monday, and we were finishing up that Spanish sounding song I wrote, yesterday so,” John shrugged.</p>
<p>“How late did he come?” Roger said, wondering if Brian had felt nauseous and terrified at the prospect of seeing him as well. He couldn’t tell if he’d be comforted either way.</p>
<p>“Almost two in the afternoon,” Freddie said. “He and Chrissie had some fight and he spent the better half of sunday writing, poor thing nearly became nocturnal, very nearly.”</p>
<p>“A fight?” Roger could feel himself blushing, more from guilt than embarrassment. “Did he say why?”</p>
<p>“No and we didn’t ask,” said John. Freddie stayed silent, eyed Roger like he knew, and maybe he did.</p>
<p>“John could you give us a moment,” Freddie said, calm and inconspicuous.</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“It’s about your Christmas gift, darling, don’t spoil the surprise,” Freddie said, shooing him out with his hands. John didn’t pretend to buy Freddie’s lie but he left without complaint, left Roger all alone with Freddie’s probing gaze locked on his guilty expression and bright red cheeks. “Out with it.”</p>
<p>“Out with what?”</p>
<p>“Shall I read you his new lyrics?” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“Oh God,” Roger muttered.</p>
<p>“Oh God is right,” Freddie fished a piece of paper from his back pocket, cleared his throat, and listed each line out flat, monotone, lifeless. But each line still stung with familiarity. Familiarity and a strange sort of comfort. The song read like it might be from both their points of view, like it was Brian’s way of understanding them both, like he didn’t hate Roger for not wanting to live in Chrissie’s shadow. But with the bitter undercurrent of knowing Brian did want him, just not enough to leave Chrissie. To Chrissie who, Roger figured, the song was addressed to, half a dissection of his and Brian’s feelings, half an apology to his wife.</p>
<p>The whole thing left him breathless, force him down into one of the chairs at the little vinyl table, at which point Freddie’s tone grew softer and his words quieter, gentler.</p>
<p>“I mean Rog,” he folded the paper up once he’d finished, “who else could this be about?”</p>
<p>“Peaches,” Roger offered quickly, the only other affair Brian had that Roger could think of. Though his cover was blown right about when he stumbled into a chair like he’d received the worst news of his life.</p>
<p>“Peaches.” Freddie stared at him, then referred back to the paper. “‘You make me wonder, did I lived my life right’. You think he’s talking about Peaches? You think she did something so magical to him he’d question his life?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what she did, but it obviously had an effect,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Why are you lying to me?” Freddie said, so full of genuine hurt. Roger could understand that. They’d been thick as thieves, soulmates even, since the day they met. Roger had never felt good keeping this whole disaster from him but the idea of talking about it, of having to say any of it out loud, having to digest it enough to say it back to someone else, even Freddie, made him sick.</p>
<p>“We slept together,” Roger said with a tight breath out.</p>
<p>“Really?” Freddie blanched.</p>
<p>“What—Yes—I thought you’d guessed that by now, why’re you so shocked,” Roger said, lowering his voice.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d actually fucked him, I thought you’d got very close,” Freddie shrugged, “But—but, go on.”</p>
<p>“It’s only been twice, well twice-ish but—”</p>
<p>“Twice?!” Freddie said in a harsh whisper. Roger sighed stood, urged Freddie to do the same, and when they passed John in the hall he said something about a smoke break and hurried out the back exit too quick for John to invite himself along. Out there, in the cold air of the morning, with the building and the trees on the opposite side of the carpark protecting them, he felt fine filling him in.</p>
<p>It came out easier than he thought it might. The woman, their nights together, the nights he’d spent dreaming of them, their last trip to New York, and last weekend. It was a quick unload that Freddie nodded and smoked his way through quite calmly. Interrupting only once to complain about how Roger had lied to him about that blowjob he caught them in the midst of being a one-off.</p>
<p>“I know I shouldn’t’ve fucked him, I know he’s married and he’s—I mean it’s <em>Brian</em>, but,” Roger sighed, out of words and full of nicotine and caffeine aided jitters.</p>
<p>“Love does that to you,” Freddie said with a smirk.</p>
<p>“It’s only made me totally mad,” Roger said as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “I cut my hair.”</p>
<p>“You what?”</p>
<p>“I brought some woman home and could barely keep it up for her, I got sick and told her to leave and I,” he sucked in a teary breath, “I just started lopping it off. That fucking house, it was supposed to be for me and Jo and our kids one day and I’ve got no Jo, no kids, and I can’t even find someone I want to stay the whole night with—except for fucking Brian,” he gestured vaguely at the studio door, “I just, I’d had enough and I cut it all off in my kitchen.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you phone me?” Freddie put both hands on his shoulders. “Roger, so long as you know me you’ll never be alone.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want to bore you with all this,” Roger wiped an errant tear from his cheeks. “I know you’ve got Paul and your own life—”</p>
<p>“You’re my best friend. If I knew you were feeling this low I would’ve camped out in your living room and had Paul visit on weekends,” he said with a tentative grin.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger felt his eyes watering uncomfortable, “thank you, Fred.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Freddie stomped out his cigarette. “And…look I don’t know what you ought to do about all this but what I do know is tonight I’ll be at yours with dinner and whiskey and something interesting on tape for us to watch until we pass out.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” Roger said, hoping Freddie wouldn’t call him on it.</p>
<p>“You won’t be able to stop me,” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“Oi,” John swung the studio door open, “it’s rhythm time if you two’re done…” he caught Roger’s attempt to hide his unfallen tears and stared, “did I interrupt something?”</p>
<p>“Roger just found out he’s pregnant, he thinks they’ll kick him out of school,” Freddie said with a straight face.</p>
<p>“C’mon seriously,” John said.</p>
<p>“Seriously,” Roger said back, he reached for John’s hand, pressed it to his stomach, “can’t you feel it kick?”</p>
<p>John ripped his hand away quick. “Can’t you two make normal jokes?” he groaned and shook his hand out. Freddie just shook his head while Roger laughed and the two of them followed him inside.</p>
<p>He and John went right to the recording booth while Freddie met Brian in the sound booth. Roger still flinched when he saw Brian grin quickly at him, quick and fake, along with a wave. But at least there was a pane of glass, a wall, some soundproof tiles separating them.</p>
<p>“So, just follow John at first to get the feeling of it,” Brian said, Roger looked down at his drums with fake focus while he spoke, not ready to meet his eyes just yet. “We’ll play it a few times over but toward the end I’d like those Bonham triplets or those um…what’re they called when you—look up—when you,” Roger glanced up at the glass and saw Brian tap out a paradiddle with his hands.</p>
<p>“Got it,” Roger replied, not looking for a long conversation, practically counting the seconds until the playback started. The first play through Roger drummed in and out of, not fully committing. And to John, to the engineers around him, it was just because he had to learn the song, had to plan his next move out. But he knew Brian knew, and he knew Freddie knew, the lyrics were knocking the wind out of him. Each line another gut-punch.</p>
<p>
  <em>If I take you tonight, is it making my life a lie.</em>
</p>
<p>What life? His life with Chrissie or with Roger he wondered. Which was he more loyal to, which one did he feel he was betraying. With a few more play throughs, Roger wondered if maybe this was a love song to him in some garbled way. A love song full of guilt and shame but the final admission being that he wanted Roger, that maybe it was ‘wrong’ but it was what he wanted.</p>
<p>
  <em>You make me wonder, did I live my life right.</em>
</p>
<p>That had to be for him, that had to be aimed at Roger. And though he wanted it to feel like a clear cry begging Roger to steal him away from the life he’d been living, to fulfill him in a way neither of them knew was possible, he knew what it really meant. That Roger confused his perfect life with his perfect wife, that any time spent like that with him would corrupt what good he had with Chrissie from the inside out. And while Roger wanted to kick and scream and fight him on it, yell at him for ever clinging to that normalcy when they knew how they felt, he couldn’t really blame him. The normalcy of having Jo around and her subsequent absence had been pure hell, going day by day, week by week, slowly realising the problem wasn’t the women he was with the problem was him, it’d torn him up and cut his hair. He wouldn’t wish that on Brian if he wasn’t willing to take it for himself.</p>
<p>So he drummed, hard and fast and full of energy. Wishing Brian a goodbye as he sweated over his toms and pounded out the triplets he’d asked for like his life depended on it, like an audience was counting on him, like the world was watching. And when the playback ended and he looked up at Brian through the glass, his hair starting to dampen with sweat, Brian grinned back politely, shot him a thumbs up and hurried out of the booth, into the hall.</p>
<p>‘He said it was perfect,” Freddie said, pressing the mic button on Brian’s behalf.</p>
<p>“I thought so,” John said nonchalantly. He was quick to put his bass down, to stretch and decide he needed lunch. Roger caught his breath, and wished he’d watched Brian while he played, wished he’d seen his reaction the whole way through, wished he’d treasured that last bit of vulnerability they might allow themselves to have with each other.</p>
<p>But he hadn’t. And he couldn’t dwell. He caught up with John, got lunch with him, focused on his and Freddie’s song for the rest of the day, and spent no more than an hour pacing the empty halls of his house before Freddie showed up as promised and kept his mind busy.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well! Here it is! The final chapter :) It's a bit long at 17k-ish. Hopefully that makes up for the time it took for me to finally post this. This fic has been so fun to write and the feedback everyone has given me has been so thoughtful and positive, I couldn't be happier with this fic and I am sad to see it go, but I'm so grateful to everyone who's commented , no matter how short the message was it's made my day &lt;3333 If you have anything you'd like to request for the next fic, let me know and as always, please comment if you liked this chapter &lt;33</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="resolved">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><p>Roger blinked tiredly, squinting at the sun peeping through his sunglasses, nearly pitch black but not dark enough to black out the sunlight that was giving Roger a migraine. He drank too much the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that. It was easy to get away with on tour, no one really noticed the excess since everyone around it was living the same. But at a certain point in their nights so far, they’d all gone home, while Roger stayed out and drank, and snorted all he could until Crystal dragged him home. Sometimes he could persuade Freddie or John to stay out a little longer, but never Brian.</p>
<p>It was that penchant for staying out all night that made him miss the lunch they were all meant to go out for. Some restaurant Freddie promised was the best in all of New York. When he’d tried to drag Roger from his hotel bed earlier that day, Roger promised him the very idea of food was repulsive and he’d be doing nothing even close to eating for a few more hours. Though he would’ve been well within his rights, Freddie didn’t scold Roger for it, just gazed down at him like Roger was an animal that needed to be put out of his misery. Some days that didn’t feel so untrue.</p>
<p>But he needed food eventually. It was only just two in the afternoon, and though Roger’s stomach was begging for something sturdy, Roger knew he couldn’t handle much more than a snack and fresh air. So he put on a big coat, sunglasses, and a hat, hoping that might keep him totally unrecognisable, and usually it did. But the longer he kept walking the more he hoped someone might recognise him and give him somewhere to lay the fuck down for a few more hours. The idea of playing a show in five hours sounded entirely impossible to him considering how heavy and sick he felt right then.</p>
<p>“Roger?”</p>
<p>“No,” Roger replied, moving a little faster. From a snail’s pace to a slug’s. No autographs, no photos, not right then, not when he was seconds away from either heaving up the acid in his stomach or dropping dead on the pavement.</p>
<p>“Uh, yes it is,” the voice replied, gaining on Roger quite easily and grabbing his shoulder. Roger ducked out of the touch and turned around, hoping showing his face would placate the stranger enough that they wouldn’t feel the need to touch him again.</p>
<p>When he turned, the face staring back at him was familiar. Though it did take a moment for her memory to click back into the forefront of his mind. She grinned up at him, her hair resting now at her shoulders, dyed darker, or maybe she’d just grown out her natural colour. Not dressed in a PVC dress or sheer cotton top this time. No, now she had a blazer, shoulder pads, heels, a skirt that didn’t stop mere inches down her thighs.</p>
<p>“What happened to you?” Roger croaked out.</p>
<p>“I could ask the same,” she replied with a grin. Roger self consciously ran a hand through his hair, wondering suddenly how he looked. He hadn’t checked himself in the mirror on his way out past seeing if he’d put anything on backwards or inside out. Beyond that he hadn’t bothered, though now he wished he had. “Where’re you off to?”</p>
<p>“Oh er,” Roger winced as his stomach turned, “just erhm, just—” his stomach growled, “I was just actually—”</p>
<p>“If you’re free for coffee,” she said, “I’m on my break. But you sound like you’re hoping to avoid eating with me.”</p>
<p>“I,” that wasn’t it. He didn’t mind eating with her, he did mind her knowing he’d been wandering the streets, disheveled and alone looking for somewhere to eat like a vagrant. But her interpretation of that hesitation suited him better, “I’m free.”</p>
<p>“Good,” she grinned at him, “but you’ll have to walk faster than that, I’m on break not vacation.”</p>
<p>She promised the deli she went to for her lunch breaks would be worth the extra block they had to walk to get there. Roger didn’t have the energy to argue and instead followed behind her. Behind as not to disturb the flow of heavy foot traffic that felt so indifferent, felt like they might mow Roger down with not so much as a blink. But the woman hurried them along and they found themselves a table outside of the deli. According to her, most people walked and ate, they were one of the few who took a seat.</p>
<p>“So what’s with the clothes?” Roger said. His hands wrapped around his sandwich and trembled at the thought of it. His hunger and his nausea starting to peak together and blend into each other to the point where he wasn’t sure if food would cure him or kill him. “Last time I thought you said you worked as a hairdresser.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” she cocked her head. “Maybe it just hadn’t come up in awhile, I haven’t been a hairdresser for nearly two years now.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Roger said. How had even she moved on and up and left him in the dust. How had the wild bleach blonde deviant he’d met somehow buckled down and sorted herself out while Roger was wondering if he ought to drink a little more before the show to get the cold sweats out, or do another line to settle his stomach. “Guess it didn’t come up.”</p>
<p>“We were busy that night,” she said with a wink. “Speaking of which, how’s Brian?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger pressed his lips together in a tight line, “you’re asking the wrong person.”</p>
<p>“What’s that mean?”</p>
<p>“It means I…” Roger took a steadying breath in, his stomach churning still, his heart pounding at the anxiety the topic still gave him so instantly, “I haven’t really spoken to him in a long time.”</p>
<p>“What—is he not in the band anymore or—” she began, her face twisted up in genuine concern.</p>
<p>“Nothing like that, we still make quite a bit of nice,” he said with a laugh, “but y’know, it’s all fake. If no one’s watching we don’t even make small talk, it’s like we don’t exist, to each other anyway.” He smirked, with no feeling behind it, and added, “I wouldn’t know the first thing about him anymore.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” she muttered. “Last time I saw you things were fine—how long’s this been…” her words trailed, then her eyes got wide, “oh, God—it’s not because of that night is it? I—I knew it was a lot but it seemed like it ended up fine…I thought anyway.“</p>
<p>“Oh,” Roger thought back, “I suppose things were a little cold after that.” Back then, when he and Brian spoke in stunted opinions on music and the weather and awkward conversation made over dinner with Chrissie and whoever Roger could scrounge up, when they apologised when they got too close but didn’t back away, when they chatted about nothing with bright red cheeks and a shared, almost obvious, desire to talk about it. When that had been his reality he thought he’d reached rock bottom.</p>
<p>He thought the nights spent with women who left unsatisfied, thought the manic lopping off of his hair, thought the time spent wandering aimlessly through his cavernous home was the lowest he could sink. God, he’d give anything to have been right about that. “Things were awkward for awhile after that. But—no it didn’t make things too bad. Now it’s…it’s…” Roger sighed, shook his head, “it’s like we’ve never met, if I’m honest.”</p>
<p>“But why?” she whined. “You two’ve always been so close—that’s—that’s why we three could all have fun. I can’t see how it went so wrong.”</p>
<p>Roger just shrugged, took his sunglasses off to wipe the cold sweat off his forehead. He squinted in the bright sunlight and avoided her gaze and took a bite of his sandwich, ignoring the way his gag reflex begged him not to, his body still unsure if it wanted food or not. When he glanced up at her, his mouth full of roast beef and his tongue suddenly reluctant to let any of it down his throat, she wore an expression of pure pity.</p>
<p>“What happened?” she said in a quiet voice, sad eyes punctuating her words.</p>
<p>He just groaned, like she was overreacting, giving it too much emotion. Like it was no big deal, like the whole situation didn’t keep him up most nights, and keep him in bed most days. “Well,” Roger ran his thumb along the edge of the paper plate given to him by the deli, “turns out you were right when you said that,” he coughed, “that maybe there was more to…to what we did than just fun.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” she eyed him with an expression Roger couldn’t pin down.</p>
<p>“It er,” he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “well it just…didn’t…” he shrugged, as if that ought to be enough explanation for her.</p>
<p>“Did you…did you tell him?” she prompted, leaning in over the table to keep their words private.</p>
<p>“I—yes, I did,” Roger said with an embarrassed smirk. “We were so awkward around each other for a long time after we saw you and er, when we got back home I…” he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and wished more than anything that this story wasn’t his reality, “I dunno, I was thinking about it but he was so happy with his wife—all my fucking friends were happy with their partners, even my ex,” he added with a huff and a tired rub of his eyes, trying to forget the wedding invitation he’d received from Jo. “I wasn’t going to say anything honestly, I just wanted things to go back to normal, but we,” he felt tempted to check over his shoulder, “we had a night, and we said…a lot.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t know—it was nice in the moment, but in the end, he’s got a wife.”</p>
<p>“I don’t get it, why does all this mean you two can’t speak to each other?” the woman said, innocently as ever, as if she had no idea.</p>
<p>Frankly, Roger couldn’t answer that. He understood Brian’s silence, understood his own avoidance at first. Understood how painful it was to see Brian and to know that he couldn’t have him how he wanted, how he thought they both wanted. And Freddie stayed up and drank with him through that. But soon the silence hurt more. Silence only visible to Roger, silence they both only practiced in private. They played nice for others, but never spoke a word if left alone. An agreement they never spoke of, one that cut into Roger every time he found himself alone with Brian and, in an instant, became entirely invisible to him. He’d mentioned it to Freddie who suggested Brian might just need more time to move past it all, but after so many months of the same, Roger had come to accept it as his reality.</p>
<p>“I guess it’s easier for him,” Roger shrugged, “with his wife.”</p>
<p>“What’s she got to do with this?” she spat.</p>
<p>“She’s,” Roger laughed, “she’s his wife.”</p>
<p>“You were talking to him before this though,” she said in an annoying high pitched tone. “What’s so different now?”</p>
<p>“What’s fucking different is he knows how I feel, and he’s told me how he feels, and he’s got a wife at home and I’m sure every time he looks at me he feels like shit for everything that’s happened,” Roger said, something he’d told himself quite a bit over the last few months, something Freddie’d told him too, trying to make sense of the way Brian shut him out so suddenly.</p>
<p>“But,” she shut her eyes, took a breath, getting frustrated with Roger just as much as he was getting frustrated with her, “but if he loves you why is he still with her? How’s that fair to her?”</p>
<p>“Well—he can’t just leave her, it’s not that easy,” Roger huffed.</p>
<p>“Why?” she cocked her head, Roger just glared. She knew what the hardships, the big issues were. It did neither of them any good to pretend love could conquer all and Roger was a fool for not demanding he leave his wife, for not saying ‘fuck it’ and inviting Brian to move in with him.</p>
<p>“If one of us were a woman then maybe he’d leave her,” Roger said, “but I don’t blame him for not wanting to leave his cushy life with her for a mess with me,” he said rather callously, “and I’m not living in her shadow so…here we are.”</p>
<p>“And what is ‘here’?” she said, looking thoroughly confused. “You love him but you two won’t even speak to each other, and you’re just settling for that?”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t understand.”</p>
<p>“I mean I guess,” she huffed. “But I just…didn’t expect this from you.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he said with an annoyed laugh. She barely knew him beyond their scattered nights together, it got under his skin that she had expectations for him at all, much less that he somehow wasn’t meeting them.</p>
<p>“I mean you take life by the horns,” she said with a wave of her hand, “and something like this is too much for you? This is where you back down?”</p>
<p>“It’s all well and good on that side of the table,” Roger spat. “I’m newsworthy, we all are, there’s no privacy for us anymore, and people aren’t all in favour of this sort.”</p>
<p>“So what?” she said. “Hire a bodyguard—don’t you already need bodyguards?”</p>
<p>Roger grit his teeth, annoyed with the points she was making while also realising he’d left the hotel without his guard and would no doubt get screamed at for doing so. “Yes, we do. But the publicity isn’t the only thing to consider.”</p>
<p>She sensed his tightening jaw and sat back in her seat, admitting defeat or at least letting Roger believe she had. “It just seems like such a waste of something good.”</p>
<p>“It’ll pass,” Roger said, taking another bite of his sandwich, his stomach starting to come around a bit.</p>
<p>“Sure it will,” she scoffed.</p>
<p>“It will,” Roger said. “I’ve been in love before, obviously it’s always passed.”</p>
<p>“Has it always wreaked such havoc on your friendships?”</p>
<p>“No but—but it’s different—it’s tense for right now,” Roger said, something Freddie told him when the silence first settled in between them and wouldn’t leave. That this was all just ‘for right now’, that this dynamic wasn’t permanent. That was much easier to believe three months ago. “I know it’s hard for me to look at him, to think of anything to say to him that won’t lead back to…to where it went before. I don’t blame him for staying away—I know I don’t trust myself alone with him anymore.”</p>
<p>“That’s the stuff friendships are built off of, silence and distance.”</p>
<p>“That’ll pass when my feelings do,” he bit back.</p>
<p>“And what about his feelings? You’ll probably never know if or when they do pass.”</p>
<p>“I’m trying my fucking best,” he said with his palms flat on the table. “The fuck do you want me to do?”</p>
<p>She sat still and quiet for a moment, considering what she was going to say very carefully, in a way that set Roger on edge. She wasn’t exactly known for her thoughtful comments.</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to do anything,” she said. “But if it were me, if I were in love with my best friend and currently being shunned, I would force a conversation. Even if it’s just to make sure that once you’re both ready to look each other in the eye again there’ll still be substance left.”</p>
<p>“I can’t just,” Roger scoffed at the absurdity, the childishness of the scenario she’d painted for him, “I can’t just ask if he’ll still be my friend.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Her long pause made Roger wonder if the question had been rhetorical or not. “All you stand to lose from this is hearing an answer you don’t like, and you would’ve figured that out for yourself anyway when months down the road you stop seeing him all together.”</p>
<p>“It could just make it all worse,” Roger said, a little tired to be explaining all the possible nooks and crannies of the situation to her when he’d been over it so many times with Freddie.</p>
<p>“When has talking made anything worse?” she scoffed.</p>
<p>“Talking about our feelings got us into this.” Roger scoffed right back.</p>
<p>“No, what got you into it was when you stopped,” she said, as if she really knew. Though, considering what she knew about them, there was a chance she had a grasp on what their problems really were. “Even if you don’t believe me,” she said eyeing his expression, “at this point you’ve got nothing to lose by talking to him.”</p>
<p>“Why can’t he be the one to talk,” Roger huffed, though he knew his words sounded immature. “Why do I have to sort this out?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’d tell him myself but something tells me I won’t be running into you two at any clubs tonight,” she said with a wink.</p>
<p>“Don’t suppose you will,” Roger agreed. “But—er,” he patted his pockets for paper, for a pen, “you know if you ever fancy it you can call me,” he said, scribbling down his phone number, wondering if she knew how to dial international. “Or the office—they can patch you through to Brian—I’d give you his but if his wife picks up, y’know,” he added, awkwardly sliding the paper over to her.</p>
<p>“What’ll I do with a phone call?” she said with a laugh as she slipped the paper into jacket pocket.</p>
<p>“I dunno,” Roger said with an awkward laugh. He didn’t know what he’d do with a call from her either. But maybe it’d make him a bit less alone to hear her voice all the way across the ocean. They hardly knew each other, but they’d hardly known each other for five years, that had to count for something. There had to be some sliver of friendship or companionship he could cling to inside her. “Just a thought.”</p>
<p>“If I’m ever in London, I’ll call,” she said. And when Roger asked for it, she gave him her phone number in exchange, though part of him wasn’t entirely sure it was real. Roger might’ve asked, in his usual nervously charismatic way if she’d given him some random assortment of numbers, but she quickly switched off, told Roger in brief about her new job as the personal assistant to some executive, and made a point to add that her break was nearly over.</p>
<p>She kissed him goodbye, and promised she’d call him again one day, Roger promised the same, though felt in the pit of his stomach he’d seen the last of her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Freddie had long ago begged him and Brian to just talk it out but it’d seemed precarious and impossible at the time. Seemed like any word misplaced with Brian would lead to a total collapse of their friendship, of their band. But that was months ago, when Roger was sure the silence was a symptom of Brian working it out in his own mind. Now it felt indefinite. Something he was so used to he could just barely remember what life had been like before.</p>
<p>And for nights, three nights, he planned on storming to Brian’s room, forcing his way in and talking to him whether he liked it or not. But those plans grew weaker the faster Brian bolted off stage and into their waiting cars. No more lingering in the dressing rooms anymore, now they went straight to wherever they were headed to avoid any fanatic mobbing them. It was hard to pin Brian down then. He’d tried waiting for him at the hotel, waiting for him to come back and hopefully intercede there. But twice he’d fallen asleep in a slightly drunken stupor, and the third night he’d opened he’d heard someone else’s voice on the opposite side of Brian’s door and been too sick to his stomach and afraid to bother knocking.</p>
<p>But he was certain, this time, this night, he’d get to Brian, get to talking no matter how daunting it felt. Ever since seeing that woman in New York, he’d been too jittery to think of anything other than speaking to him. No women, no clubs, just the dread in his stomach as he tried to rehearse an opening statement that didn’t sound too abrasive, that didn’t come on too strong, but something loud enough to pierce the violent silence between them.</p>
<p>He shook his hands out, the cold weather always made his joints ache. And though he did like to complain the most about that, he knew Brian and John had the same issues with their guitars, and Freddie with his piano. Still, he felt entitled to whinge about the cold weather as if their managers had caused it.</p>
<p>“You always bitch about it when it’s cold and then when you warm up—” John began.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to hear about how contrary I am,” Roger interrupted.</p>
<p>“You can’t bitch about cold weather and hot weather,” Brian added with a laugh. It wasn’t unusual for Brian to speak to him like that, in a group setting, with the topic of conversation light and passive. But ever since Roger had internally decided that it wouldn’t go on this way, that hell or high water, he’d get them on more solid ground even if that ground was separate, each of Brian’s words hit something deep in him. A worry, maybe, that once they spoke, Roger wouldn’t even have this surface, fake conversation.</p>
<p>“I’ll bitch about whatever I like,” Roger said, his voice quieter.</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit,” Freddie said. “What’s life without bitching?”</p>
<p>“Fun?” John offered.</p>
<p>“Since when is it not fun to bitch?” Freddie said with genuine confusion. John just rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>“I should’ve shaved,” Brian said, rubbing his jaw in the mirror, scratching at the stubble there.</p>
<p>“Looks rugged,” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“Looks messy,” Brian said. “I might actually—do you think they’ve got razors?”</p>
<p>“Er,” Freddie laughed, “they might but you really don’t have to—we’ve only got a bit before we’re on.”</p>
<p>“It’s enough time,” Brian said, hurrying to his feet.</p>
<p>“Well, don’t rush and nick yourself,” John warned. “We’ll look like teenagers if you’re up there with cuts.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Brian with no real care as he burst out into the hallway, a bat out of hell on the search for a razor in the five odd minutes they had left. Roger thought he might follow right after him, bolt after him down the hall and wander innocently into the empty bathroom with him while he shaved. And he was reaching to catch the closing door when John’s voice stopped him.</p>
<p>“Rog, are you going out tonight?” John asked.</p>
<p>“I er,” he bit his cheek, he’d been blowing John off since New York, hoping to spend his nights talking, or at very least arguing, with Brian.</p>
<p>“Oh come on,” John said with a groan, sensing the brush-off coming. “I can’t very well tag along with Freddie—”</p>
<p>“Yes you can,” Freddie said, “but you’ll need more leather,” he added with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>“And Brian—he’s no fun. Last night we went out, he found the first woman who would look in his direction and left with her, I don’t even think he got a drink,” John said. “I need an actual night out with actual fun.”</p>
<p>“I’m actual fun,” Freddie said with a bit more volume.</p>
<p>“You are but your fun isn’t the kind I like,” John laughed. Freddie glance at Roger through the mirror, letting him know he could’ve made a joke at his expense but held his tongue for poor John. “Why should Brian be the only one getting laid?”</p>
<p>“I’m getting laid,” Freddie said, with a grumpy and confused tone. “And why does Brian leaving the club with someone prevent you doing the same?”</p>
<p>“Well,” John sighed, “it doesn’t and I did go home with someone but it was a boring story. And I know Roger’s not getting laid, he hasn’t been out all week.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been ill,” Roger said, suddenly unsure if that was the excuse he’d been giving John the last few days, his fingers nervously drumming on the door he was still holding open.</p>
<p>“You’re not ill now,” John said. “Remember when we’d all go to those horrible dive bars and meet the real freaks of the city? I want a night like that. Going out, having a whiskey and leaving with some stranger is getting boring if I’m honest.”</p>
<p>“You must not be doing it right,” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“I’ll think about it,” Roger said, enough to placate John, to stop the conversation where it was, though they all knew his final answer would be a no. But he didn’t care about that, not just then, he cared about how Brian was very probably alone in the men’s room backstage, shaving. “I’ll be back in time,” he said before hurrying out, not bothering to stop and listen to anything Freddie might say about his absence.</p>
<p>He wandered in an almost-jog to the men’s room and threw the door open like if he didn’t hurry Brian might hide from him. He jumped, caught Roger’s eye in the mirror, and swore under his breath as he checked the nick in his cheek.</p>
<p>“Fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Roger said, not the beginning to a conversation he’d hoped for.</p>
<p>“Whatever,” Brian said, obviously upset and obviously not willing to indulge it with no one else around.</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger said, his tongue suddenly four times it’s normal size and his head entirely empty. “I er,” he began, still unsure where this was going. In his head he was confident, in his head he told Brian not to go out after, told him they had to stay in and talk and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. But in the moment, in the shitty bathroom with Brian, his hands shook and his head swam. He’d planned how he might lean into this, how he might break the silence between them without coming on too strong, without scaring Brian into a deeper silence, but all that planning hadn’t accounted for the jarring sensation of being alone with Brian again. Of trying to speak to him again.</p>
<p>“What?” Brian snapped, full of bite and bitterness, like Roger was violating some rule they’d set in place. Though Roger noticed Brian’s hand shaking as he held the paper towel to his cut cheek.</p>
<p>“Er,” Roger said. Nothing. No words, no thoughts, just bits and pieces of memories of what he thought he might say, words that didn’t fit just then. His body was urging out the confused mess of his emotions the last few months, but he hadn’t even got past a hello with Brian. “You were with someone last night.” He said finally. Wishing he could take it back as soon as it was out.</p>
<p>“What?” Brian said, he turned back to the mirror, nervously dragged the razor across his left cheek.</p>
<p>“I just,” Roger coughed, feeling sick to his stomach with each inhale, “I was wondering if you were going to do that again.”</p>
<p>Brian set the razor down, glanced in Roger’s direction and held his gaze for a moment, glancing away quick like Roger might burn him. “You’re with plenty of people yourself,” Brian spat.</p>
<p>“I know,” was all Roger could manage to get out. No reassurance that he wasn’t judging him for anything, wasn’t pointing out his infidelity to Chrissie to get under his skin. No promise that he’d only fumbled those words out in an attempt to ask if he might stay in that night instead. None of that, just a quiet, ‘I know’, and an awkward glance between them before Brian brought the razor up to shave the last remnant of his stubble.</p>
<p>There was more he wanted to say, more that needed to come out, more he’d been so sure would help after he spoke with the woman. She’d so convinced him that a conversation, that a little honesty between the two of them might help their silence, might get them back into the friendship they’d grown so comfortable in. And maybe that had been true outside a New York deli. But it wasn’t true inside some stadium men’s room. In there, nothing felt further from help than a conversation with Brian. Each second spent watching him rinse his face and pat the cut on his cheek was painful and agonisingly long.</p>
<p>“Sorry I startled you,” Roger said in a choked breath, Brian said nothing, and Roger saw himself out, wondering why he thought striding up to Brian would sort any of this out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He played with an intensity born of frustration rather than excitement that night. There was an ache in him, an anger maybe, as his mind drifted back to Brian throughout the show. He’d told himself for so long that jumping into a conversation would prove fruitless, would lead nowhere and, at worst, might push Brian over some invisible edge and make him decide that keeping Roger in any part of his life was too much. But he’d so wanted to believe the woman had been right. So wanted to think that maybe there didn’t need to be such a song and dance about their situation, that maybe he could cut through the tension and have them both laughing about how cold they’d been to each other. And it stung that his attempt had ended so quickly, so pathetically. Barely able to get a few words out, the most they’d said to each other in months, and all of it entirely useless.</p>
<p>So when John caught him after the show, asked if he’d decided on whether or not to go out, Roger kept his eyes on the way Brian barreled toward the cars, and said that yes, he’d find some club with John. Why shouldn’t he? Brian was out doing whatever he well pleased, why should Roger be the only one sat at the hotel stewing.</p>
<p>He couldn’t remember the city was in, much less if he’d been to the club before. But it looked familiar. And it felt familiar when he wandered to the bar and ordered a double. And pounded it back like it was nothing before ordering another, then another.</p>
<p>“We just got here,” John laughed over the music, Roger hadn’t noticed him at his side.</p>
<p>“Long day,” Roger said, breathing through the burn of the whiskey he’d practically inhaled.</p>
<p>“Alright, well wait for me,” John said, ordering himself a drink to match Roger’s.</p>
<p>“I can have fun,” Roger said, mostly to himself but loud enough for John to cock his head.</p>
<p>“Who said you can’t have fun?” John said with a more nervous laugh.</p>
<p>“Long day,” was all Roger could say.</p>
<p>“Oh…kay,” John said. His concern was interrupted by the woman who appeared at Roger’s side. Taller than him in her heels, and probably without her heels as well, Roger figured. She was pretty, with big eyes and a dark voice that invited him to dance. Roger topped his drink off and slurred something in John’s direction about being right back. John let him go with a small wave, his eye already on a different woman headed right for him, but that look of confusion or concern not leaving his face by the time Roger looked away.</p>
<p>Roger had long ago accepted that none of them could dance. He’d never been able to get past the embarrassment of knowing how ridiculous he looked in order to just have fun trying the way John could. He often preferred to spend his time being grinded on if he dared approach the dance floor at all. But tonight he didn’t mind it. Didn’t care that with his fame there was the added risk of a photo being snapped while he was looking his most ridiculous. And the woman dancing with him didn’t care either. She didn’t seem to be much better than him, and only laughed when their horrible moves crossed and got them tangled.</p>
<p>Fun. He could have fun. He could enjoy himself without Brian. Without him as a lover, without him as a friend, without him in his life, he could have fun. And he could have more whiskey, and he could dance badly with the same women until her heel broke and she drunkenly kissed him goodnight, and he could find John and drag him off to mens room and stare nose to nose while John’s pupils dilated with the coke. And he could make John dance with him, both showing off their worst moves and clearing a space around them until Roger, and his whiskey, toppled over and slammed against the floor. Roger didn’t feel it, he’d had too much to feel anything, but John looked at him like he might’ve shattered.</p>
<p>Someone behind him helped him up to his feet with John’s help, and when he went back to the bar to replace his whiskey, he slurred his words enough that the bartender said no. John made an attempt on his behalf but didn’t get much further and soon two of the roadies who tagged along with them were dragging them out of the place, warning them they might make a fool of themselves if they stayed any longer. So they fell in a town car and Roger attempted to give the driver the name of the hotel, his words mostly mush. Thankfully the driver was their own, knew the hotel’s name and address, and could decipher Roger’s request for the ‘otel’ with ease.</p>
<p>Roger sank into the leather of the car, a little sweaty from the dancing, from the coke, and watched the city lights fly by. Going at the speed of sound it seemed.</p>
<p>“You’re really drunk, I think,” John slurred.</p>
<p>“Mm,” Roger said tiredly, that peak of joy, of happiness he felt dancing his arse off with John, with a few strangers, with a few lines, was coming down the further from the club they got. “I am.”</p>
<p>“You are,” John said fondly.</p>
<p>“So’re you,” Roger said, lolling his head over to look at John next to him.</p>
<p>“Well so’re you,” John said with a grin.</p>
<p>“Mm,” Roger hummed, shifting over to rest his head on John’s shoulder. John let him. Roger shifted more, onto his side, more cuddled up to him, John sucked his teeth and laughed at him, called him some name Roger didn’t hear. At the next red light, Roger reached a hand up, slipped it inside John’s half-unbuttoned shirt, let it rest against the warmth of his chest.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” John said, the slur in his words not as pronounced as Roger’s.</p>
<p>“Warm,” Roger replied as his eyes slipped closed.</p>
<p>“You cold?” John said, his response coming in a little late.</p>
<p>“Freezing,” Roger lied, his eyes closed and his body hugging John’s all the way back to the hotel.</p>
<p>The driver jolted Roger out of his half sleep when he pulled John’s door open and the blinding lights of the hotel lobby forced them apart. The driver apologised like he’d seen them in the middle of something much worse than a drunken nap in his car, and wished them a good night as they stumbled into the hotel lobby. John gripped Roger’s arm and giggled when Roger very sternly told him to act normal. Roger’s version of acting normal was holding his breath all the way to the elevator while John’s was saying ‘hello’ to everyone that passed them in a much deeper voice than Roger thought he was capable of.</p>
<p>Once the elevator doors closed with just the two of them inside, John cheered liked they’d pulled off some heist and kept himself upright on the hand rails. Roger jumped once, then when he saw John panic at the way the elevator dropped, threatened to do it again, threatened to stall it just like they had all those years ago.</p>
<p>“Not funny!” John laughed as he shoved Roger out of the lift.</p>
<p>“Funny!” Roger replied, nearly falling headfirst into the wall before he caught himself.</p>
<p>“Fuck, which is my room?” John said, whipping his head back and forth down the hall.</p>
<p>“Fuck, which is my room?” Roger said, doing the same. He looked down the hall with the intent of reading the numbers on the doors and trying to recall which one might belong to him. But with each glance in either direction, everything just blurred. So he fumbled through his pocket until he found his key. In the moment it was much, much easier to test the key in each door than it was to try and read the number on the key and match it to a door.</p>
<p>John followed behind, testing his key on each door after Roger tried his, giggling as they went and shushing each other, trying not to wake the other guests who might think they were being broken into. Roger was beginning to wonder if they’d got out on the right floor when he felt the weight of a lock turning against his key. “I did it! I did it!” Roger said, nearly breaking the key off in the lock as he hurried inside. “I did it!” he shouted again from the center of his room. John shushed him and followed him in, kicked his door shut lazily.</p>
<p>“You’ll get us in trouble!” John shouted.</p>
<p>“With who?” Roger slurred confidently.</p>
<p>“With the police,” John said, just as drunkenly, just as confidently. “I want crackers,” he added. “I need to be more sober if I’m ever gonna find my room.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Roger cleared his throat and stumbled his way to the mini bar to present to John the assortment of overpriced snacks. John kicked his shoes off and padded his way over. Roger tried, very hard, to read the prices for each item, an old habit of his from when their hotel rooms were shared and their food budget was barely in the triple digits for the entire tour. “Just er, just take whichever,” Roger said when he found his eyes couldn’t focus long enough on the words to read them.</p>
<p>John said nothing but took the packet of crackers and made his way to the foot of Roger’s bed. He groaned when he sat, like an old man finally settling into a recliner. “I hope I find my room,” he said.</p>
<p>“It’s out there,” Roger assured him as he fumbled to sit next to John. Both of them stared straight ahead at the black telly as if staring at it long enough would eventually turn it on.</p>
<p>“Cracker?” John said, handing one off to Roger. Roger took it, ate too fast and felt it scratch its way down his throat. “You’ve been acting so funny,” John said through a hiccup. “For awhile.”</p>
<p>“No I haven’t,” Roger slurred, on the edge of sleep or maybe on the edge of another burst of raucous energy, he couldn’t tell yet. “Gimme another cracker.” Roger turned, held his hand out for another offering, and saw John look back at him with a cracker between his lips and a guilty expression. Roger whined, plucked the box out of John’s hands and found it empty. He shook the box out as if he might find anything and grumbled at John, his noises meant to get across some sentiment that he figured John understood judging by how apologetic he looked. “Fine,” Roger said, lurching forward to bite off half the cracker between John’s lips like it was nothing.</p>
<p>John stared at him, frozen for a moment, before he bit down on his half of the cracker and laughed like mad.</p>
<p>“What’s funny?” Roger swallowed his half of the cracker, again not bothering to chew it long enough and feeling it scratch his throat up like he’d swallowed it whole. John just shrugged, kept laughing each time his eyes met Roger’s. Roger couldn’t help but laugh with him, unsure about what was so funny but not particularly pressed to find out. John looked like he might explain but each time he tried he laughed harder, and so did Roger.</p>
<p>And he bumped his shoulder against Roger’s slapped his thigh, tried to catch his breath while Roger did the same, glancing back at each other to laugh at the other for reasons Roger wasn’t sure John knew either. John kept laughing, kept staring, and Roger did the same, but looked a little deeper, a little past John. Wishing he were someone else. He brought a hand up to John’s hair, twisted it around one finger hoping to make a ringlet and laughed with John when it fell flat.</p>
<p>John kept grinning at him, and Roger kept grinning back, a laugh still going back and forth between the two of them. And when Roger leant forward, captured John in a kiss, John still laughed against his lips, Roger did too. The laughter only stopping when Roger’s tongue brushed against John’s bottom lip. John breathed a hint of a laugh as he parted his lips enough to let Roger in.</p>
<p>Maybe this could be fun. Maybe if every woman he met on tour left him feeling sick to his stomach, maybe a man was the cure, and if it couldn’t be Brian, well…</p>
<p>John pulled back, Roger feared in a move to hit him or yell at him. But he just stared, wide-eyed, for a moment, for a breath, then laughed like it was the funniest thing. Roger laughed with him, half in relief, and kissed him again. Laughing as they went, laughing as Roger shifted up onto the bed, laughing when John joined him, laughing when Roger rolled on top of him and pinned his wrists, kissed him like he was dying.</p>
<p>He rolled his hips, his hardening cock against John’s, found it to be an equal whiskey-addled hardness, and figured that was a good sign. But John’s face fell out of that giggly grin and turned serious, or at least quiet when Roger moved against him like that. Roger froze, hands planted on either side of his chest, and waited for him to speak, to throw him off, to do something. It took a few more beats of intense silence that, in his drunken state, felt like they’d lasted for decades, before John glanced down between them, rocked up against Roger, and laughed like mad when he muttered, “you’re hard.”</p>
<p>“So’re you,” Roger laughed in reply, his words getting stuck in his mouth and tumbling out awkwardly as the whiskey slowed him down.</p>
<p>“Well, so’re you,” John said.</p>
<p>Roger chuckled, heard John whisper something but couldn’t make it out. Instead he rolled his hips against him, heavy, to offer some relief to them both, the thought of undressing so daunting considering how much coordination it took to unbutton. John kept his grin, Roger did too, staring at each other like they were committing some horrible crime but couldn’t get enough of it. Occasionally John’s laughs caught in a moan, and Roger’s did the same. But each sound of pleasure was followed with laughter, both a little in disbelief that they were hearing the other like that.</p>
<p>“I dunno how to,” John said, hiccuping.</p>
<p>“I do,” Roger replied. He clumsily rolled off John, urged him to climb up on top of him and winced when John accidentally rested his hand on Roger’s hair and tugged it. While John laughed out an apology, Roger wrapped his legs around John’s hips, pulled him down against him, and laughed at the way John’s eyes fluttered. “Virgin.”</p>
<p>“Nuh uh,” John said sloppily. “How d’you know this?” John said, shifting down over him, putting a hand on Roger’s chest, looking for something that wasn’t there.</p>
<p>“I’ve done it before,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“What, with a man?” John laughed into his neck.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Roger nodded, “with Brian.”</p>
<p>“What?” John laughed, still grinding subtly against him.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Roger said with a giggle. He patted John’s cheek, urged him up to meet his lips, pulling away only to add, “he’s good at it, good at taking it too.”</p>
<p>“What?” John said, his laughter not so pronounced anymore, but his tongue still eagerly moving against Roger’s when he pulled him in, when he locked his legs around his hips tight.</p>
<p>“You’ll be good too,” Roger mumbled against his lips, “you can fuck me like that too.”</p>
<p>“Like Brian?” John said with a hint of some emotion Roger couldn’t figure out from his spot underneath him.</p>
<p>“Like Brian,” Roger repeated. He kissed John with all he had, the laughter dying out entirely when he did. When he rocked up against him and moaned at the feeling. He struggled hard to get his hands under John’s tucked-in shirt but once he had he clawed at his back. And wished it were Brian. And felt his grip around John loosen involuntarily, felt the intense need in his stomach start to give way to exhaustion, felt his lips, his tongue, move a little lazier, until he felt nothing at all except tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sunlight woke Roger. Normally he was careful about drawing the curtains so a beam of sun wouldn’t disturb him and his hangover. But the fact that he was still fully dressed aside from his shoes told him he’d had a more drunken night than usual and drawing the drapes was likely not on his to-do list, or even in his motor capabilities the night before.</p>
<p>And what had happened the night before, Roger thought. The club, the drinking, the coke. With John. He blinked hard, begging the grogginess to leave him as flashes of the night before caught up to him in a jumbled mess. The drinks, the coke, the ride home, all of it at once jumping to the forefront of his mind. Though, he realised, he couldn’t remember how it ended. He remembered the warmth of John above him and then nothing.</p>
<p>He held his breath when he turned his head to check the spot next to him. Not sure if he wanted John to be there or not but sure that either way it’d be a surprise. And when he saw John, lying at his side, nestled in a tangle of the sheets, his eyes open and locked on the ceiling, he took in a sharp breath.</p>
<p>“What happened?” Roger said, turning back to stare up at the ceiling with John.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” John side with a tight jaw.</p>
<p>Nothing? Roger thought. No use in pretending nothing happened. “I remember some of it, John.”</p>
<p>“I was very drunk,” he said.</p>
<p>“So was I,” Roger said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“I—I would’ve never—if I were sober, I—”</p>
<p>“I know,” Roger said with another quiet laugh. John reminded him of how he’d felt after he and Brian left the woman’s flat for the first time, back when everything felt like the end of the world. “Not a bad kisser though.”</p>
<p>“God,” John groaned and sat up, “don’t say shit like that.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be such a prude,” Roger said, reaching forward to prod his side, trying to lighten his heavy mood. John glanced back at him with eyes full of panic. “Nothing even happened…did it?”</p>
<p>“What do you remember?” John said with a crimson blush.</p>
<p>“I remember kissing,” Roger laughed, “and then I remember getting on you, I remember you liking it,” he teased, John grimaced, “and switching and asking you to fuck me, and then,” Roger threw his hands up, “then I don’t know what.”</p>
<p>“Then you fell asleep,” John said.</p>
<p>“Ah,” that explained his clothes still being on, that explained the frustration in his stomach after a night with no release. “Why’d you stay?”</p>
<p>“I was too drunk,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I couldn’t find my key and I couldn’t figure out the door lock.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Roger said. He sat up at John’s side, stretched and brought his knees up to his chest to match John. “Why do you look so ill?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” John said, though he wouldn’t look Roger in the eye.</p>
<p>“I don’t have any feelings for you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Roger said with a sigh.</p>
<p>“You don’t?” John said, finally meeting his eyes.</p>
<p>“No,” Roger reassured him. “You can stop breathing so heavy.”</p>
<p>“Fuckin—excuse me if I’m a little fucking shaken up by all that,” John said, wrapping his arms around his knees loosely but clutching what fabric he touched.</p>
<p>“We’re rockers,” Roger said, nudging his shoulder against John’s, “things like this happen. And in this case, it didn’t even happen.”</p>
<p>“But it very nearly did,” John rubbed his cheek tiredly.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean anything,” Roger said, putting a hand on his shoulder that he was surprised John didn’t immediately shrug off.</p>
<p>“You’re a man!” he shouted.</p>
<p>“But I’m a pretty man,” Roger teased, then more seriously, “and we were drunk, things get mixed up.”</p>
<p>“I guess,” John said with a shaky exhale.</p>
<p>“It’s just a funny story for us to have later on, not the end of the world.” Roger said. “Last night you thought it was pretty funny.”</p>
<p>John smirked. “Last night I thought everything was funny.”</p>
<p>“If I’d’ve been sober, you laughing that hard when I kissed you would’ve really hurt my ego,” Roger said.</p>
<p>John grinned, dared to look at Roger again. “I can’t remember why I started that but, dunno, just seemed so funny to be doing all that with you.”</p>
<p>Roger chuckled under his breath. “Funny is definitely the best word for it,” he quickly added, “no offense or anything. I’m sure you would’ve been—”</p>
<p>“None taken,” John interrupted, clearly not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. “There was one thing I…I can’t remember if I’m remembering right.”</p>
<p>“Don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Roger added with a laugh.</p>
<p>“It’s er…” John sighed, “when it got more…heated, and you asked for it, I, don’t remember exactly how you said it but I think you said that…you’d done this before with Brian?” John looked up at him for confirmation. And Roger knew the shocked and bright red look on his face wasn’t going to go far in terms of convincing John he’d misheard him. “Fuck—have you really?”</p>
<p>“I—we—it was a long time ago,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” John said, his voice heavier this time. He broke from Roger’s gaze and stared straight ahead. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>“Don’t hate me,” Roger said. A pathetic plea for his friendship to remain intact. These days, with so few people he felt he could call a real friend, he wouldn’t bother beating about the bush when it came to John. He couldn’t be at odds with half the band, it was overwhelming enough with just Brian.</p>
<p>“What—why would I—I don’t hate you,” John said quickly. “I just can’t believe it. How—when was this—how’d—I thought you liked women, I thought—does Chrissie know—is this why you and Jo split—” John stammered. His questions practically overlapping each other. Roger shushed him by covering his mouth, and started in with his explanation.</p>
<p>How it’d began years ago with neither of them really realising anything changed. How it changed, how they found it hard to resist each other to the point of stealing away at Ridge Farm or slinking away to the hotel pool. How Brian’s engagement tore him to shreds, how his empty house felt like a disease with no cure, and how, since the night they’d spent together, they hadn’t said a word in earnest to each other. John listened patiently but stared at Roger with a clear expression of overwhelmed confusion as he pieced together the story in his own head.</p>
<p>“That’s why I was ‘ill’ the last few nights, I thought I might talk with him but,” Roger shrugged, “kept chickening out.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” John said sloppily, “right.”</p>
<p>“We don’t have to talk about it,” Roger said, sensing his discomfort, “you just asked so I thought—”</p>
<p>“If you want to talk about it,” John said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Sorry, I’m just—it’s been a big morning, there’s a lot to take in.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Roger said, waiting in the silence for John to gather his thoughts. Though he felt twitchy and uneasy in the silence, waiting for a single word from him, Roger couldn’t imagine what he wanted John to say. If he wanted words of comfort or advice or something else entirely. He could tell John was just as lost as him the longer the silence continued. But he didn’t want to break it, didn’t want to interrupt any possible thoughts John might’ve shared with him. So he waited, and waited, until—</p>
<p>“What’re you gonna do?” John said, looking up at him hesitantly, almost as if he thought he might’ve said something wrong.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Roger shrugged. “Just get used to it maybe?”</p>
<p>John looked at him with sad eyes and tight lips. “You think?”</p>
<p>Roger shrugged again. “What else can I do really? We can’t speak, I don’t think he even wants to. What’s the point of fighting for that when he’s not bothering?”</p>
<p>“I suppose,” John looked a lot like how Freddie often looked when they spoke about this sort. Like he wanted to give Roger some encouragement, some hope, but could see none in the situation.</p>
<p>“I’ll be fine,” Roger said, “I’m doing much better, I even took a bloke home last night, so I’m on the mend,” he added with a snicker.</p>
<p>“God—was that why you were all over me in the car?” John said, reaching up to shove Roger.</p>
<p>“Only kidding!” Roger shouted as he bounced back from John’s shove. “If I were trying to chat you up I wouldn’t’ve been so drunk I fell asleep before the action.”</p>
<p>John winced but laughed through it. “Can you please not tell anyone?”</p>
<p>“They would think it’s funny,” Roger said, leaning back for his cigarette carton on his side table, “but I won’t tell.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” John sighed in relief. “And er, I won’t tell about, about you two.”</p>
<p>“Freddie knows, don’t know who else you’d tell besides him,” Roger said with a scoff.</p>
<p>“What—you told Freddie and not me?” John said with genuine offense.</p>
<p>“Well,” Roger coughed, “to be fair, Freddie walked in on Brian sucking me off so he had a head start.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” John said, rubbing his eye, “well you could’ve said.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want to horrify you,” Roger said with an apologetic hand on his back. “You can be so skittish when Freddie talks about his boyfriends, I didn’t want you to feel like you were all alone in a band of three poofs.”</p>
<p>“I’m not skittish!” John said with a lot of volume and bite. Quickly followed by, “well, if I’m skittish it’s because I don’t know what to say, not because I’m uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“Well, now I know all it’d take for you to split me in half is<em> a bit</em> of whiskey,” Roger teased.</p>
<p>“It was <em>much more</em> than a bit,” John said, swatting blindly at Roger’s leg.</p>
<p>Roger heaved himself off the bed first, grumbling about needing some water to calm his headache. John requested the same. Roger downed an aspirin with his water, polished off the glass and refilled it for John who chugged it just as fast. John took a deep breath and hoisted himself to his feet, stretching up tall, letting Roger tug his jacket on for him before he walked him to the door.</p>
<p>“Not a word,” John said as he opened the door.</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Roger said, as John stepped into the hall, “wouldn’t want the whole world knowing what a good lay you are, there’d be much less for me.”</p>
<p>“That’s not funny,” John said, trying to be serious but breaking into a laugh midway.</p>
<p>“Meet you downstairs for the airport,” Roger said. John grumbled some goodbye and screamed another ‘not funny’ when Roger smacked his arse as he walked away.</p>
<p>“Roger?”</p>
<p>Roger turned, glanced down the opposite side of the hall, at the curls peeking out from around the corner. “What?” he bit in response, hoping to mimic how cold and unyielding Brian had been when he tried to speak to him the night before, though he felt his knees nearly buckle at the sound of his name on Brian’s lips.</p>
<p>“Was that John?” he asked, rounding the corner with his luggage.</p>
<p>“Oh er,” Roger stammered, “we got pretty far gone last night. Too smashed to find his room.”</p>
<p>Brian nodded with a blank expression, his knuckles white around the handle for his luggage. “We leave soon, you ought to hurry.”</p>
<p>Roger felt anger bubble up in his throat, felt the urge to yell at Brian for the way he looked him up and down like Roger was some drunken nuisance. Like one night of drinking made him less of a person in Brian’s eyes. Like nothing Roger did would ever be in Brian’s favour no matter what it may be. Like Brian would always look down on him with that smug and intense expression that always seemed to say ‘why can’t you get over it’.</p>
<p>“The fuck do you care?” he spat before slamming his door closed. There was a lot more he wanted to say but that was all he could manage to get out. As he changed out of his sweaty, wrinkled clothes, and packed up, a lot more came to his mind. Whole speeches about how Brian had no right to judge how he coped with his deafening silence that he refused to break. Monologues about how he was doing his part to heave them through this rough patch that Brian kept extending or maybe never had any intention of ending. That Brian was treating him like some subhuman lifeform despite, at least at one point in time, loving him. Treating him like he wasn’t worthy of pleasantries or quiet hellos, and had the gall to sit and stare and gawk at Roger’s hangover like he was some pathetic waste rather than a person aching in a now-dull pain of a loss he couldn’t quite believe had really happened.</p>
<p>Part of him thought he might give Brian at least part of those thoughts when they all met in the lobby, or maybe when they all piled into their cars, or maybe when they were all ushered through the airport at breakneck speeds and quickly out onto the tarmac before anyone caught wind that they’d been there. But Brian wouldn’t look in his direction, wouldn’t acknowledge he was there, and Roger decided, he’d do the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The plane was tense and quiet, only Freddie and John’s whispered conversation to break it up before Roger decided to ditch the tension by falling asleep. Once they landed and said hello to the few crazed fans willing to wait at the airport for them, they found their way to the hotel. Roadies and the like chatting away in the car while Roger stewed. Practically bursting at the seams with a rage he couldn’t describe. Once he couldn’t even voice.</p>
<p>It’d been such a small, insignificant moment. One little up and down glance, one little cocked eyebrow and deep inhale. Barely a second or two, but it felt like the last straw. How could Brian treat him like this, how could he love him and do this. Even if his own feelings had passed, he knew about Roger’s. How could someone normally so kind and considerate turn into this hateful beast willing to shun his closest friend, willing to restrict their conversation, willing to let them both suffer in silence, and when Roger showed the slightest hint of slipping, of not perfectly enjoying never speaking to Brian, he was gawked at like some freak. Like it was his own fault for not piecing himself back together in the dark silence of what was once something so promising.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what his outlet would be, but he needed something to abate his anger. It started out as his hair backstage. Brushing it and teasing it and tearing at it like a madman until Freddie ripped the brush from his hand.</p>
<p>“You <em>do not</em> have the hairline of a man who can be so rough,” Freddie scolded.</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Roger said under his breath.</p>
<p>“God you are in a mood today,” Freddie said sucking his teeth.</p>
<p>“I am not,” Roger spat, though his words were laced with anger, each syllable a piercing stab.</p>
<p>“I need some air,” Brian said quickly, standing up with purpose. As if he had the right. As if he had the fucking right to stride out of their dressing room like he was the victim of all this. Like he hadn’t started the silence, like somehow Roger not being able to handle it would effect him in his ivory tower in any way shape or form.</p>
<p>Roger stared at the door through the mirror, watched it as Brian slammed is shut and did all he could to keep from flipping the vanity he sat at or throwing anything within arms length of him.</p>
<p>“Roger,” Freddie said, a gentle hand through his hair as he stood behind him and eyed his clenched jaw through the mirror, “darling, what’s this all about? You look like a rabid chihuahua.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Roger said, still gritting his teeth.</p>
<p>“Is this about last night?” Freddie said.</p>
<p><em>“Freddie!”</em> John said from the couch behind them.</p>
<p>“Oh please, he already knows what happened, he was there,” Freddie said with a laugh. Roger caught John’s eye in the mirror, watched him cover his blushing face with one hand and a groan.</p>
<p>“He told you?” Roger said, a smirk breaking over his face.</p>
<p>“On the plane,” Freddie said, “it was like being in grade school again, y’know back when kisses were still a huge deal.”</p>
<p>“It—It was weird!” John said.</p>
<p>“It’s<em> a kiss</em>, John, we’re not thirteen,” Freddie said flatly.</p>
<p>“It was very nearly not just a kiss!” he said from his spot on the couch, a little louder at first then quieter when he remembered anyone could hear through the door.</p>
<p>“I know I know,” Freddie said rolling his eyes, “but you really did have me convinced something much more terrible than a drunken kiss and a little dry humping happened. I mean,” Freddie turned back to Roger in the mirror, his hands still petting his hair, “his opening line was ‘something’s happened but you can’t tell a soul’. Doesn’t your mind jump directly to dead hooker?”</p>
<p>“That’s your own personal problem if your first thought is murder,” John said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Well, anyway,” Freddie said pointedly in John’s direction before bringing his focus back to Roger, “is that what’s got you biting off everyone’s heads?”</p>
<p>“No,” Roger said as if it were obvious, “of course not, that was—that was just a laugh.”</p>
<p>“Thank fuck,” John muttered.</p>
<p>“Did you seriously think I was stomping around all day over that?” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Angry you didn’t get the full package,” Freddie said with a wink.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright!” John said over them. “That wasn’t the issue so we can stop talking about it.”</p>
<p>“He told me you said he was a good kisser and then wouldn’t let me kiss him,” Freddie said. “How rude’s that?”</p>
<p>“John!” Roger said with fake offense, leaning into the soft scratching Freddie was doing against his scalp. “You can’t tell someone that then not give them a sample.”</p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake,” John groaned, a smile still faint on his face but a blush much more prominent.</p>
<p>“Okay, we’ve had our fill,” Freddie said, “no more teasing until tomorrow. Can’t have you blushing like that on stage, it’s not very rockstar.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” John said, thoroughly embarrassed by now and focused on his bootlace to hopefully tone down his bright red cheeks.</p>
<p>“Right then,” Freddie said, lightly tugging Roger’s hair, making his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, “what’s got you in this state?”</p>
<p>“It’s…nothing really,” Roger shrugged.</p>
<p>The door blew open, made all three of them jump, and was followed by Brian reentering with windswept hair and the same pissed off expression he’d had on all day.</p>
<p>“How was the fresh air?” John asked.</p>
<p>“Fucking cold,” Brian replied. “It’s sleeting out there, like getting stung at a hundred miles an hour—I mean I thought the south was supposed to be fucking warm.”</p>
<p>“It’s December,” Freddie said. “And it’s much warmer than England.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t this whole fucking state a fucking swamp, where’s the fucking heat?”</p>
<p>“You sound like Roger,” John said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“No I fucking don’t,” Brian spat back.</p>
<p>Roger grimaced at him, curious why he was angry too. What possible fucking cause he could have to feel in any way entitled to anger. What possible reasoning for it he could have. Roger was sure it wouldn’t be good. Was sure it was similar in substance to the reasoning he used for justifying months of silence between them. More of his own bullshit that no one could call him on since he wouldn’t speak any of it out loud.</p>
<p>When he stormed on stage it was with a forced smile and a quick wave to the crowd before beating his bass to warm up. And he spent she show with his eyes on Freddie, on John, on the crowd, never lingering to his left, never letting Brian’s figure in his periphery. He couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine laying eyes on him without the frustration and anger overwhelming him to the point of slipping up on the song, of lunging across the stage at him to try and knock sense into him. And though normally a good drumming session could get some of the anger out of him, or at very least abate his energy enough to where he wouldn’t want to spend it being angry, he felt no different when they took their bows. Felt just as repulsed and tightly wound when Brian got too near him as they shuffled off stage.</p>
<p>“Who’s for drinks?” Freddie said as they made their way through the halls of the backstage, in the general direction of the car park.</p>
<p>“I think I’m taking a night off,” John said.</p>
<p>“Last night wore you out?” Roger teased, forcing a bit of good humour out of himself if just to annoy Brian with the fact that he had it.</p>
<p>“Don’t tease the poor man,” Freddie said, swatting lazily at Roger’s arm.</p>
<p>“I’m staying in too,” Brian spat from behind the three of them.</p>
<p>“Well if everyone’s staying in,” Freddie sighed. “I could hardly sleep last night, I suppose it’s best for my voice to get one good night in.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” they all muttered in relative unison. Their minds all on something else, not really listening to Freddie.</p>
<p>Their security led them out to the garage and Roger hurled himself into the car marked for him. And tried desperately to enjoy the company of people in there with him. The random women, Crystal, a roadie he couldn’t remember the name of. In older times he’d be thrilled with his assortment, with his own pick of who to take home. But with a clear head and piss poor mood to bring it into focus, it almost shocked him how far removed he felt from the version of himself everyone in the car seemed to know.</p>
<p>The version that was chasing women and having a good time doing it, the charismatic loud mouth that could carry a conversation with a wall. They weren’t lies but they didn’t feel like the truth in the moment. The reality of his life the last four or five months had been nights spent crying on Freddie’s shoulder, days spent listlessly wandering through his empty home, meals uneaten, whiskey devoured, drugs and the excess the moment they were back on tour, the empty feeling in it all, and holing himself up in his hotel bathroom while he yelled at the women on the other side of the door to leave, night after night. Part of him felt like a fraud sipping champagne in the back of some fancy car and laughing with a woman in each arm like he wasn’t furious, like he wasn’t exhausted from it, like he wouldn’t have traded everyone in that car for a little solitude.</p>
<p>But he sidestepped it, made some excuse about his sore throat, a pulled muscle, a few smatterings of excuses for why he couldn’t go out with everyone and why no one could come back with him. He said goodbye at the hotel and hurried inside with his head down, ignoring anyone in the lobby who might’ve recognised him by chance or on purpose. He didn’t have the energy, all of it focused on fuming at Brian.</p>
<p>He slammed his hotel door, threw his jacket off, flung it across the room and muttered bits and pieces of the rage-filled monologue he’d been dreaming up since that morning. Every last bit of petty hatred spewing out of him in muttered and garbled half-sentences screamed at no one in particular. He smacked and beat the pillows of his bed, did the same with the curtains, shattered a lamp in the process, and felt no better. Not one bit. Each word spoken just reminded him of how wronged he felt, how desperately he sad he was. Every word he spewed at the walls, every mention of his misery, of his solitude, of his hurt feelings bounced right back and struck him as something new, something to be freshly upset over. It eventually brought his solitary ranting to a halt that was marked by Roger sipping whiskey from the minibar and lying flat across his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing it might cave in on him.</p>
<p>“You in there?” said a voice on the opposite side of his door, then two knocks before another, “Roger, are you in there?” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Fuck off!” Roger screamed, not thinking. His anger speaking for him and his curiosity wondering what Brian could possibly want from him only after he’d sent him away.</p>
<p>“Please,” Brian said, slamming a fist against the door, “just for a minute.”</p>
<p>“What,” Roger began in a voice to quiet for Brian to hear, before adding much louder, “what do you want?”</p>
<p>“To talk,” Brian said.</p>
<p>About what? Roger thought. They hadn’t spoken about anything at all for months, what could he possibly be willing to break that streak over now? His feelings? Surely not. If he wanted to have that conversation it would’ve happened ages ago. Roger sighed, lamenting that it might be his drinking that Brian had come to scold him about. He twisted the top back on the mini bottle of whiskey he’d opened and slid it back into the fridge before daring to approach the door, making sure the chain lock was still threaded when he did so.</p>
<p>“What?” Roger spat through the cracked door, his eyes locked on Brian’s, his heart pounding with the adrenaline of a night spent internally shouting with Brian.</p>
<p>“Will you let me in?” Brian said with an air of annoyance.</p>
<p>“Why?” Roger said.</p>
<p>“Because I want to talk,” Brian said with a bit more bite and a bit quieter tone.</p>
<p>Roger eyed him for a moment, wondering how much worse things could get if he let Brian in. Maybe Brian had come to tell him they couldn’t work together anymore, maybe he was going to try and kick him out of the band, maybe he was leaving the band, maybe he was going to start requesting they take separate flights and cars to the venues and use separate dressing rooms, and not look at each other on stage. Maybe those measures were going into effect for their next show and this was the last he’d see of Brian. So he closed the door, unthreaded the lock and opened it for him again.</p>
<p>“Come in, I guess,” he said, disappearing back into his hotel room and waiting to hear the click of the door closing to know Brian had followed him in. He kicked his boots off, something he realised he hadn’t done early in his fit. He loitered, awkwardly swaying with his arms crossed over his chest, happy to see Brian at the edge of the room looking equally awkward. Staring at him through the dim light and the silence with a look Roger couldn’t quite place. He wondered if his expression was actually so unreadable or if, maybe, Roger just couldn’t read him anymore. “Well?” Roger prompted.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Brian said, shaking his head, like he’d been lost in thought, “I’m not used to…” he gestured between them.</p>
<p>“Whose fault is that?” Roger spat.</p>
<p>“I,” Brian huffed, “look I, I just,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, then quickly brought them up to cross over his chest, “I just, I know that,” he sighed, frustrated with his own stammering and clenched his jaw tighter, kept his eyes on the floor in front of him when he spoke, “I know things have been tense between us—”</p>
<p>“Tense?” Roger scoffed. “They haven’t been fucking anything, Brian, they’ve been silent! This right here is more than you’ve said to me in <em>five fucking months!”</em></p>
<p>“I know!” Brian shouted, a twinge of vulnerability in his voice. Something Roger couldn’t find any sympathy for. “I know it’s been fucking awful, I fucking know,” he said with a shaking breath, “but I—I just—I can’t believe you would—no matter how upset with you I got I would never sleep with a friend of yours—a friend of <em>ours</em>—and I would certainly never fucking flaunt it the way you have, I wouldn’t rub your nose in it like that, I wouldn’t,” he inhaled quick and uneven, like he might cry, like he might somehow deserve to cry.</p>
<p>“John?” Roger spat. “You think I slept with John?”</p>
<p>“Don’t pull that,” Brian bit, “I saw him leave your room, I heard you two talking, I know what fucking happened.”</p>
<p>“Then you know he slept in my room and nothing else,” Roger said firmly.</p>
<p>“Nothing else?” Brian scoffed. “Roger—I heard him talking about it on the plane with Fred. All about how you kissed him and—and all sorts,” Brian said with a wave of his hand, “I—I spared myself the gory details and went and got sick in the bathroom instead—so—so don’t act as if nothing fucking happened I know what happened!”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Roger conceded, “<em>a bit</em> happened, but we didn’t sleep together.”</p>
<p>“You expect me to believe that?”</p>
<p>“I don’t care if you believe it,” Roger said, letting his arms fall to his side in an annoyed huff.</p>
<p>“Do you care enough to at least give me your side?” Brian said, a hint of desperation in his voice.</p>
<p>Roger thought for a moment, wondered if he ought to indulge this. Wondered what good would come of it, of Brian scolding him for sleeping with someone they both knew as if he wasn’t allowed to do that, as if, amidst everything else, he’d also set up invisible restrictions on whose arms Roger could seek comfort in.</p>
<p>He took a deep breath in, his mind deciding between throwing him out and explaining it all when his body made the choice for him.</p>
<p>“It’s like I told you,” Roger sighed, “we got very drunk at the club we were at, when we came back we were lucky to have found my room, far too drunk to try and find his. He came inside to sober up. And we ended up a little south of sober.” He shrugged. “A little kissing, a bit of dry humping and I fell asleep. Poor thing was so horrified with what he’d almost done in the morning, he was white as a sheet, I doubt he would’ve gone through with it even if I’d stayed awake.”</p>
<p>“So…so you really didn’t?”</p>
<p>“No,” Roger spat, “I really didn’t.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Brian said, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs, “well—then I’m sorry for bothering you—”</p>
<p>“Wait,” Roger shouted, spotting the way Brian turned towards the door subtly, “I might not have slept with him but I’m allowed to sleep with him. You don’t get to ignore me and make up these unspoken rules about who I can be with.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed—” Brian started.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well it’s obviously enough of an issue that you broke your silence for the first time in five months!” Roger shouted. “You came in here to scold me for it!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t come to scold you!”</p>
<p>“Then why?!” Roger shouted.</p>
<p>“I—I—I didn’t say you weren’t allowed, I just, I thought I meant more than that.”</p>
<p>“Are you joking?” Roger spat.</p>
<p>“No I’m not joking!” Brian said defensively.</p>
<p>“You—how—how dare—you are<em> not</em> allowed to make judgements like that!” Roger shouted. “You know how I feel, I told you I loved you and you—you disappeared in the dead of night! And this, this here, is the first time we’ve spoken about that because you’re such a callous piece of shit that you couldn’t even do me the courtesy of letting me know that despite it all <em>we’d never speak again!</em> You can’t just—just pretend that didn’t happen and point to me trying it on with someone you disagree with as—as proof that I’m some unfeeling prick! You left me! And you’re only coming back to tell me you’re what? Disappointed?! Fuck you!” He took in a sharp breath, one of relief. It wasn’t everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to beat Brian with, but it was enough to make him feel a little lighter, a little more on solid ground.</p>
<p>And Brian was silent for a moment. In his signature way. Thinking hard about what he might say with his eyes trained on Roger. Part of Roger didn’t want to hear what sorry explanation Brian might give, but part of him hoped it would make some of it all make sense.</p>
<p>“I didn’t see it that way,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Didn’t see what what way?” Roger replied.</p>
<p>“I didn’t stop talking to you because I’m just a callous piece of shit—”</p>
<p>“Had me fooled,” Roger interrupted.</p>
<p>“Rog—I mean you must understand some of it,” Brian plead, desperate in a way that made Roger seethe. How could Brian dare to angle for sympathy from him, after all this time. “I told you how I felt too, I was the one who lied my way to your house because I was so desperate to be alone with you—”</p>
<p>“And then you <em>left</em>—”</p>
<p>“<em>Because</em> you asked what I was going to do,” Brian said. “Like anything less than leaving Chrissie wasn’t good enough.”</p>
<p>“And it’s not! I’m not signing up to be your secret until it’s no longer convenient or until she gets pregnant—”</p>
<p>“I know!” Brian screamed. “So I left because I didn’t want any part of that memory ruined and I knew if I stayed I’d be a wreck the next day—and I was a wreck the next day with Chrissie.”</p>
<p>“My heart’s bleeding for you, Bri, really it is,” Roger said with no real care. Brian ignored him.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you—I’m sorry—but I—I couldn’t,” Brian said with a defeated sigh. “I was so, so helplessly in love with you and every time I saw your face it felt like I reset. Like any progress towards feeling normal about you again just erased. I’d see you and think—think how happy we’d been, how disappointed and angry you’d looked with me when you asked what I’d do. I just couldn’t speak to you, I could hardly speak to anyone,” Brian said with a shaking huff.</p>
<p>“Don’t cry,” Roger said, knowing the signs of the beginnings of tears in his voice.</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Brian spat with a shaking voice.</p>
<p>“I understand all that—it wasn’t easy for me to see you either, it was fucking hell and I only got through it because Freddie made sure I did,” Roger spat. “But five months, Brian—I’ve seen you nearly every day for five months.” His voice carried a sad lilt he’d hoped to disguise.</p>
<p>“I thought it was better that way,” Brian said with a shrug.</p>
<p>“How?!” Roger screamed. “How is this better?!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know!” Brian screamed right back. “I thought maybe it would get us over it, get us back to being friends a little quicker, but—but it didn’t work for me. And if it worked for you I didn’t want to fuck it up before you were ready to talk to me—I didn’t want to jump back into being friends with you before it didn’t hurt to look at you.”</p>
<p>“What are you saying?” Roger spoke in a quieter voice, a gentler one.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Do you still love me?” Roger said, his confidence coming from the fact that he really felt he had nothing left to lose.</p>
<p>“Of course I do,” Brian said with a choked breath in, the lump in his throat straining his words. “I never stopped, but—but with Chrissie—I wasn’t ready to leave her, I’ve put her through so much already and I thought it’d be more noble to stay but…that’s all wrong,” Brian said with a shaky breath out and rub of his eyes, smearing the unfallen tears across his cheeks. “It’s been so long…I know it’s too late to make up for everything but—but I didn’t do this because I’ve got no feelings, Rog—I love you more than I’ve loved anyone I just didn’t know how to do it.” A few tears welled in his eyes, fell down his cheeks, made him curse under his breath when he wiped them away and stared up at the ceiling hoping to somehow blink them back.</p>
<p>Roger thought about striding across the room to comfort him, but his mind hadn’t pieced it together yet. It made sense, he supposed, on paper. Made sense that he’d been too afraid to leave his wife, too lovesick to speak to Roger, and too awkward to break a silence he thought might one day get them back on track but, but— “If you love me so much why won’t you be with me? If this is really how you feel why’re you married?” Roger said, holding his breath for the answer.</p>
<p>“Because I made a mistake,” Brian said, wiping his cheeks too roughly then letting his hands fall in defeat. “I thought it’d be kinder for everyone if I stayed where I was, and I was wrong,” he hiccuped, “I was horribly wrong.”</p>
<p>“So,” Roger panted, “so you’ll leave her?”</p>
<p>Brian nodded. “I know it’s too late, I know I should’ve done this months ago but—but it didn’t all make sense until the tour started and I got away from her, got time alone. And it’s not fair to love her less than you and string her along, it’s not fair to, to assume I’d be happy doing that. And it’s not fair to you that it took me so long to accept that.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not fair,” Roger said, trembling a bit when he took a step towards Brian, then another, then another. Until he was close enough to reach up, to brush the tears from Brian’s cheeks for him, to brush the curls back from his forehead. “But it’s not too late either.”</p>
<p>Brian held very still, like Roger’s touch might turn hateful if he spooked him. “You mean that?”</p>
<p>“Of course I mean it,” Roger said with a quiet laugh.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to mean it,” Brian said with a teary laugh and a shy hand on Roger’s waist. “You’ve got every right to hate me by now.”</p>
<p>“I know I do,” Roger said, patting his cheek just a bit too hard. “But the last five months without you…there’s just no amount of trying to get even that would make me prolong that. I’m tired of missing you.”</p>
<p>“I—I’m tired too,” Brian said with an exhausted laugh. He was shaky and unsure when he leant down to meet Roger’s lips, but Roger let him close the gap, made no effort to meet him halfway. He’d earned that right. But he still sighed in a pained relief when Brian kissed him, rested his hand on Roger’s chest with a light an tentative touch, like Roger might push him away at any moment.</p>
<p>And he did.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Roger said, leaning away from him and staring straight ahead at Brian’s collarbone before daring to glance up, “you mean it, you’ll leave her?”</p>
<p>“I mean it,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“This isn’t like, like one of those stories where I’m left on the hook for years with you promising you’ll <em>one day</em>—”</p>
<p>“No, this isn’t that,” Brian said quickly. “With or without you, I’m leaving her.’’</p>
<p>Roger held his breath, let Brian’s words sink in, then tugged him back down into a kiss, pulled him in close and gripped his hips like his knees might buckle. After all that time, all that distance, Brian still felt the same under his finger tips. Same bony body, same lanky limbs and quiet squeaks when Roger held him tighter, grabbed him like he owned him. “It’s been hell,” Roger muttered against his lips.</p>
<p>“For me too,” Brian replied with a sigh. “I love you,” he breathed, then a bit louder, “I love you.”</p>
<p>Roger whimpered, a lot of emotion rushing him at once. Reciprocal love, a calmness he hadn’t felt in years, a comfort, a desire to curl up in Brian’s arms and never leave. All of it overwhelming, all of it manifesting in the way Roger kissed him like he’d die without it, held him like he’d fall, and practically sobbed his name on a loop like he’d never get to say it again.</p>
<p>He pulled back, shed his jacket, reached up to do the same for Brian and dragged his lips across his jaw as he did. Brian trembled under his touch like he’d never felt it before. Roger smirked at the sight of his shaky hands, his uneven breathing, and led him by the hand to his bed. Brian clambered up with him, no coordination or grace as he flopped next to him and let Roger tangle their legs together. Just lying there, grinding against each other, holding eachother with tight desperate grips and biting kisses, just that satisfied an ache deep in Roger. Just Brian’s touch and the promise of more was worth more than the women he’d had on tour all combined. Brian wasn’t as skilled or as suave as them, he certainly couldn’t do all their tricks, but his nervous wandering hands and his high-pitched whisper of Roger’s name sent shivers down his spine like none of the women could.</p>
<p>Their clothes came off bit by bit, clumsily with each piece, like they’d never undressed before, like each button on their shirts and trousers was new territory they had to discover together. Roger felt much the same when Brian slid two fingers in him. He’d done it before, he’d been desperate for it before, but it felt new then. He kept his eyes on Brian’s and his jaw shut tight at the slight burn. A burn that only deepened when Brian’s cock replaced his fingers. He muttered quiet apologies, mouthed at Roger’s neck, and sighed his name in a way that made Roger’s heart leap, his stomach sink with desire. He wrapped his arms, his legs around him, begged him for it, for more, and Brian whimpered when he gave it to him.</p>
<p>Though it was the same act as before, it felt totally changed. It wasn’t the tawdry spectacle it’d been the first time with the woman. And it wasn’t even the private attempt at closeness it’d been all those months ago. Now it was secure. Certain love in a physical form. No guessing what the other might feel, might be thinking, no wondering if the other would still be there in the morning. A new type of comfort, of pleasure, that only came from knowing it wasn’t fleeting, from knowing on all levels it was sincere and wanted from both sides and as fulfilling for one as the other.</p>
<p>Roger’s throat caught when he got close. Brian’s name sounded choked coming from him, the warning that he was close more of a rasp than full words. And when Brian pushed him over the edge he arched up against him, cried his name as he convulsed. He laid against the pillows, his eyes closed, his muscles tired, and waited for Brian to finish with him, listening carefully to the way he grunted and panted and moaned Roger’s name until he painted his chest.</p>
<p>Roger didn’t wait for him to catch his breath before he pulled him down into a kiss, not bothered by the mess spread between them. Brian smiled against his lips kissed all he could until he pulled back to gulp down some air, one hand running over Roger’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”</p>
<p>“You think?” Roger said with a smirk.</p>
<p>“I do,” Brian said, leaning back down to kiss the high point of Roger’s cheek before whispering something about a flannel as he slinked off to the bathroom. He returned with a wet towel that he ran over Roger’s chest, making sure to wipe the residue of lube from his inner thighs, gazing at Roger with love in his eyes the entire time.</p>
<p>“You’re beautiful too,” Roger said when Brian settled into the empty spot next to him.</p>
<p>“Not like you,” Brian said. “You know it’s funny,” he said, nestling in closer, holding Roger a little tighter and burying his nose in the crook of his neck, “when this started, when we first…”</p>
<p>“Don’t get shy about it now,” Roger teased.</p>
<p>“Well—when we first tried it with her, I kept thinking how lucky I was that you wanted me in even a small way like that,” Brian sighed against his skin, “don’t know why I ever tried to let that go.”</p>
<p>“I don’t either,” Roger said pointedly, his hand around Brian tightening as he rolled over and readjusted on his side, his eyes on Brian’s, just barely visible in the moonlight. He reached up, brushed back Brian’s unkempt curls, though they bounced right back to where they’d been.</p>
<p>“Would you’ve gone through with it, with John?” Brian said quietly.</p>
<p>“Jealous?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Brian said with no hesitation.</p>
<p>“Well, no,” Roger said, “the whole thing was weird, I’m surprised we got as far as we did.”</p>
<p>“So you don’t think he’s…better looking or anything?” Brian added shyly.</p>
<p>“What makes you say that?” Roger laughed.</p>
<p>“He’s got more muscle than me, his nose isn’t so big,” he said, shrugging subtly, his eyes locked on the hand he had rested on Roger’s hip.</p>
<p>“I’m not one for muscle,” Roger said, pulling him in tighter, “and your nose is just the right size.”</p>
<p>“I got called ‘bird-nose’ a lot in grade school for it,” Brian said with an awkward laugh.</p>
<p>“Yes well I got called ‘faggot’ a lot for my whole face,” Roger said, grinning at the way Brian burst out in a laugh. “Turns out grade schoolers don’t know all that much.”</p>
<p>“I do think we might have to get used to being called faggots,” Brian said with only a hint of a grin, a grin disguising hurt feelings.</p>
<p>“For my money, as far as the press is concerned, we’re very good friends,” Roger said. “Fuck everyone else.”</p>
<p>“I think they’ll figure it out when I move in with you,” Brian added with a laugh.</p>
<p>“When you what?” Roger said with a stoic face.</p>
<p>“Oh—I—joking, just joking,” he said quickly, inching away from Roger until Roger pulled him back in. “I was just thinking out loud,” he added much quieter.</p>
<p>“Y’know that’s the first idea I’ve heard from you all tour that wasn’t complete dog shit,” Roger said. Brian rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “The extra amps, the long fucking guitar solo we added, the <em>outfits</em> you’ve decided to wear on stage? All complete shit. But I think I could use a roommate.”</p>
<p>“You think you’ve got the space?” Brian said, poking Roger’s side to make him squirm.</p>
<p>“Keep it up and you’ll be in the guest room.”</p>
<p>“Well of course I will be,” Brian said very sternly. “We’re two friends sharing a house, why on earth would we share a bed.”</p>
<p>“Tthe story I’ll be telling my maid is that we both get very cold at night,” Roger said.</p>
<p>“I don’t know why she wouldn’t believe that, that’s a very normal thing for two friends sharing a home to do,” Brian said with a giggle.</p>
<p>“You’re laughing but this actually worked for every gay hollywood star in the fifties.”</p>
<p>“It’s worked for Freddie and Paul too,” Brian said.</p>
<p>Roger sucked his teeth. “Either it’s worked or people are too polite to accuse him of anything.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine by me,” Brian said nestling in a bit closer as the exhaustion from the day, from their night, weighed on him, weighed on Roger equally. “Truth be told I’m more worried about your mum than I am of the press.”</p>
<p>“My mum?” Roger scoffed. “She put me in tap class when I was young, said she thought I would meet like-minded boys.”</p>
<p>Brian roared in sleepy laugh against his shoulder. Roger joined him but let his eyes slip closed as the warmth of the bed, of Brian lulled him towards the edge of sleep. “You never told me that,” Brian said in a whisper. “But I can tell you you’ll have a bitch of a time winning my parents over. They love Chrissie.”</p>
<p>“That’s okay,” Roger said, giddy at the thought. Not excited to watch Brian go through a painful divorce with a woman he once loved, or maybe still loved just not enough. Not excited to help cause a potential rift in his family, to potentially get him disowned from a poor couple with no other children. But thrilled beyond belief that he’d started the day with no intention of speaking to Brian and ended it in his arms, sleepily going back and forth about strategies for placating his parents when they got back to Britain.</p>
<p>It’d be a mess, a big mess, a big public mess full of broken hearts and loss. But the end result would make it worth it. Brian in his house would make it worth it. He’d been so focused for so long on finding someone, anyone to fill the empty armchair across from his, to sit with him at the breakfast table, to sleep at his side in his empty, cold bed. But only Brian filled those spots. For so long he’d been terrified to admit that, worried Brian was someone he could never have. But lying there, in his arms, half asleep and glued to each other, he couldn’t feel anything but relief in knowing Brian was the only one he needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the past the idea of a private plane felt indulgent, but now it was necessary and Roger wouldn’t complain about the legroom. He knew Brian wouldn’t, not after so many years of touring with his legs lying out in the aisle for some stewardess to ram into with her cart.</p>
<p>He also wouldn’t complain about the tables, the way they could move about like it was their living room instead of a cabin. The way John and Freddie could sit across from him and play cards mid-flight. And he really wouldn’t complain about how the spacious seats didn’t recline properly, or how Brian ended up using Roger’s shoulder as a pillow.</p>
<p>“Go fish,” Roger whispered to Freddie, careful not to wake Brian.</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Freddie whispered back.</p>
<p>“Freddie, got any kings?” John said with a devilish grin.</p>
<p>“You piece of shit,” Freddie said, handing over three kings. “You are my least favourite friend, you know that? You’ve dropped all the way to the bottom of the list—I’m not even sending you a Christmas gift.” Freddie held his stern gaze for only a few more seconds before breaking down and pinching John’s cheek. “Alright, but just a small gift, a very small one, not the big one.”</p>
<p>“The big one?” John said eagerly. “You’ve already bought it?”</p>
<p>“It’s going back,” Freddie said, nodding at the stack of kings at John’s side.</p>
<p>“A small price to pay for victory,” John said with a grin that Freddie did his best not to mirror.</p>
<p>“My turn,” Roger, said, patting the table for their attention as quietly as he could. “John you got any—”</p>
<p>“Did you drug him?” Freddie said nodding in Brian’s direction.</p>
<p>“What?” Roger laughed.</p>
<p>“A few days ago he was sat at the opposite end of the plane from you and now he’s sleeping on your shoulder?” Freddie said, cocking an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.</p>
<p>“Now that you say that…” John said, his words trailed off and his gaze locked on Brian’s sleeping face.</p>
<p>“Did you two make up?” Freddie said, leaning forward and lowering his voice even more.</p>
<p>“A bit,” Roger said quietly.</p>
<p>“Well—what happened, what’s the verdict?” Freddie said hurriedly. “Are we all friends again or do I have to pretend I don’t know about this passive aggressive trainwreck?”</p>
<p>“We’re all friends again,” Roger assured them.</p>
<p>Freddie flinched, obviously expecting something a bit more grand than a patched over friendship, but sank back in his seat and sighed in relief just the same. “Well, I’m very happy for you, I didn’t know how much more of that we could all take before we went the way of the Beatles.”</p>
<p>John scoffed. “God forbid we end up like the Beatles.”</p>
<p>“Yes <em>God forbid it</em>,” Freddie said, whacking John on the top of his head with his hand of cards. “They don’t speak to each other, they don’t have family dinners just the four of them. If we ended up like that, all distant and catty, I don’t know what I’d do.”</p>
<p>“Thankfully we are not going the way of the Beatles,” Roger interrupted, before John could make any comment. “The only bad news is we may have to delay the next album a bit.”</p>
<p>“God,” John groaned.</p>
<p>“Why?” Freddie whined.</p>
<p>“Because Brian’s getting a divorce,” Roger said, holding back a grin too wide. It felt cruel to be too happy about it but there was only so much he could hide.</p>
<p>“You’re kidding,” Freddie said, reaching across the table between them to slap his arm.</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Roger said, a little more giddy than he cared to admit.</p>
<p>“When did this happen—what changed?” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“Actually,” Roger turned to John. “I have you to thank.”</p>
<p>“What’d I do?” he said with a furrowed brow.</p>
<p>“He thought we fucked and got so jealous he broke his silence to yell at me about it,” Roger said, grinning ear to ear.</p>
<p>“Please don’t include that when you tell people how you got together,” John said rubbing his temple.</p>
<p>“Only when I tell Ronnie,” Roger said with a wink.</p>
<p>They all hushed up quick when Brian stirred. Roger held still, hoping he’d lull himself back to sleep, but gave up on that when Brian’s eyes blinked open. Freddie waved at him, a small gesture that Brian did back at him.</p>
<p>“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Brian said, leaning further into Roger for a split second before sitting up like he’d done something horrible. “Sorry—didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Brian said, speaking very robotically and awkwardly.</p>
<p>“’S alright,” Roger laughed.</p>
<p>“Right, sorry,” Brian said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing nervously between Freddie and John before adding, “I need the loo,” and standing up to stumble to the back of the plane.</p>
<p>“Oh God,” Freddie said as he watched him meander to the loo, “he thinks we don’t know doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know how,” Roger said with a laugh.</p>
<p>“Why haven’t you told him,” John said.</p>
<p>“I was going to,” Roger said with a sigh as he rearranged the cards in his hand, “but I sort of want to see what excuse he gives you both for when he moves in with me.”</p>
<p>“He’s moving in?!” Freddie said a bit too loudly, but thankfully no one’s heads turned.</p>
<p>“Well, officially, he’s staying with me while he gets back on his feet after his divorce,” Roger said trying to sound as much like a PR manager as he could.</p>
<p>“Now that you say that, I would like to see him try and lie to us about this,” John said to Freddie.</p>
<p>“It’s mean,” Freddie said.</p>
<p>“But it’s funny,” John added.</p>
<p>“I’ll give it another couple days,” Roger said. “Get in any laughs you want to before then. John do you have any threes?”</p>
<p>“Go fish,” John said smugly.</p>
<p>When Brian returned they dealt him into the game. He sat up a little too tall, a little too formal in an effort to overcompensate for how familiar he’d been by falling asleep on Roger. But once the game got going, once Brian leant into the competitiveness of it, they all felt like themselves again. Yelling at each other like children when the game didn’t go their way and celebrating like toddlers when it did. After a few more rounds, John being the victor of them all, the lights went off as their managers advised them to sleep then as they wouldn’t be landing until the middle of the night. Freddie, unable to fully recline their rather outdated seats, he put his head on the table and made sure to tell everyone in the vicinity that if anyone was going to request tea from the stewardess he would like a cup as well, but only if he wasn’t the only one asking. John, pragmatic as ever, found his neck pillow, his sleeping mask, and crossed his arms over his chest and fell asleep almost entirely upright.</p>
<p>Roger squirmed in his seat for a moment or two, eyeing how much of the night sky they could see through their window, before he eventually settled on Brian’s shoulder as his pillow, like he belonged there. And if anyone asked Brian, he’d say he did.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>